


All This and Heaven Too - Part I

by EndlessStairway



Series: All This and Heaven Too [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends, Forced Labor, Humiliation, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Let's see how he ends up, Loki (Marvel) Angst, Loki Whump, Loki starts off as kind of an asshole, M/M, Prisoners, Protective Loki, Rape, Slow Burn, Space AU, Space Prison, Things will not be smooth, Torture, Whipping, temporary paralysis, we'll see about comfort later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-02-08 17:38:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 25,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18628057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EndlessStairway/pseuds/EndlessStairway
Summary: Floating in space, somewhere in an alternate, canon divergent universe, Loki and Tony Stark end up on the same prison ship, far from the nine-realms, far from home, far from safety. Can they trust each other enough to try to get home, or will they sell each other out for an extra portion of gruel?Tags will be updated as the fic progresses.





	1. Tally

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo this is the space-slaves fic I've been meaning to write! It's just warming up, and I've been on hiatus for a while fighting with my original fics, so any and all encouraging comments are very welcome!

The tally was taken every night, and Loki was used to the routine of it. He entered the main deck with the others, all of them dirty, exhausted, and clutching their work-tokens. The tokens were proof of the work they had done that day, they would buy them their food, their water, even the air they breathed.

His green eyes searched for Min, his unfortunate page, taken at the same time as he was. They were in separate cells, but Loki paid a portion of his tally every day to Min’s cell-boss, a shrewd man named Getar. In exchange, Getar saw that Min was protected. She was young, not as strong or resilient as Loki, and she was vulnerable.

Loki saw Min, sitting exhausted on the metal deck, and a moment later, Getar was at his elbow. He was tall and broad, older than most on the ship. It was the work of a moment for Loki to slip a token into his hand and Getar drifted away again. They rarely talked. Better not to draw attention of the guards. Any hint of collaboration, or cooperation was crushed ruthlessly.

Loki strolled back to his own cellmates. He was the boss of his own cell, of course. None of the other eleven challenged him, and he would not tolerate dissent. It had only taken a few demonstrations of the benefits of his leadership as well as the costs of crossing him, and they had all fallen into line. They handed over their tally, and he took another token from the neighboring cell-boss, payment for a favor done four days ago. He would collect six more payments on that favor, and then they would be square.

It was a grind. It was a prison, a forced-labor camp. But for a prince, Loki knew a surprising amount about surviving in prisons. Waste no time bemoaning fate. Find out the rules and give the appearance of following them. Never be caught in a lie. Never give or take a favor without payment. Trust no one.

Loki turned in the tally for his cell. He slipped a token to the tally-counter as well. The life of the lower-level guards was little better than the prisoners themselves, and it did not hurt to make friends.

The buzzer sounded, rattling the entire deck, and the prisoners headed for their cells. Sixty cells on this deck, twelve to a cell. Loki didn't know many decks there were. No one lingered after the buzzer. After lock-down the main deck was depressurized, and anyone left outside was dead by morning. As security measures went, it was simple and effective.

Their food was in the cell, delivered by a tube about as wide as Loki's fist. Cans of water, and cans of thick gruel, tasteless and sticky, but filling. There was no point in complaining about it, the food never changed. Loki took his first and nodded to the others to take their portions. It had taken several days, several rounds of punishment for him to train his cell to wait for his order to eat. But they learned. Even Darronu, a Tauren who still sneered at Loki behind his hand, now waited for his nod before taking his food.

They always made tally. Loki saw to it that they did, whether through favors or by the work of his own back, his cell almost never went hungry. As they ate, the clear energy field snapped into place over the fourth wall, and their work day was over.

Once the field was in place, the cells were left to their own devices until morning. Cells like Loki’s and Getar’s, ate and slept, amusing themselves if they wished to with stories, boasting, gaming and complaining. Other cells were not so lucky. Those without strong leaders, or with leaders drunk off the scrap of power they had, were dangerous.

Nights on the ship were not quiet. The sobbing was constant. Not everyone got to eat, cells that didn’t make tally got short rations, and some prisoners would be trying to sleep hungry. Worse, some would not be allowed to sleep at all. The younger ones, pretty ones, who had no protector fared worst of all. Loki kept Min safe from that, thank the Norns. Getar valued Loki’s daily payment more than he valued any other offers he got to trade her to another cell, or to loan her out for a night. He made sure Min knew about it though. He kept her afraid and he kept Loki paying.

Loki ate his food and stretched out on his metal bunk. Everything was metal here. No softness of any kind. No softness, no kindness, no comfort. No sunshine, no fresh air, no green grass. Nothing but bare metal, stale air, and work.

Loki refused to be ground down by it. He had been through worse, he reminded himself every night. He had discovered he was a monster, a snake in the breast of his own family. He had fallen through the void. He had been bent and twisted by the Mad Titan, broken and remade into a puppet-commander for a suicide mission. But he had survived all that, and he would survive all this too.

He stretched out his senses, trying to feel a thread of Yggdrasil. The energy source of the ship they were on was like a burning sun, blinding his senses in that direction. Every night, he could only search half the surrounding ether, and the thought that Yggdrasil may lie behind him, close but out of reach, tormented him. If he could find one spark of arcane energy, find the direction of the nine-realms, he and Min could be gone. But there was nothing.

He put one arm under his head, closed his eyes, and tried to dream of home.

The next day was the same. Work, trade, tally, eat, sleep. Their time on this planet was ending, and the labor ship would move on soon. This job was a mining operation, and their cell had the job of sorting raw ore that made their fingers itch and burn. Loki had traded most of their tally for protective gloves on the second day. They had gone hungry that night, but at least the skin had not peeled off their hands as had happened to some of the other cells. The guards didn’t care. Prisoners could always be used, one way or another.

The ore was getting less and less, harder to pick out from the rubble surrounding it. Harder to make tally. They did though, every day, with little to spare for trade.

On the final day, Loki only had enough for the exact tally count after paying Getar. The tally counter looked at him expectantly, and Loki only hesitated for a moment before taking one token off his stack and slipping it into the guard's hand. He had learned to trust his instincts, and something told him his payments were about to pay off.

The tally counter palmed the token and leaned forward, his yellow eyes glistening, one red and swollen from infection.

“New crop coming in tonight,” he said in a low whisper, while pretending to carefully count Loki’s tally. “Anyone you want to trade out?”

“Darronu,” Loki said immediately. The Tauren was strong but he slacked off. He made his tally and no more, even though he could work harder and contribute more. Loki would trade him off in a heartbeat. “Get me Min,” he said, but the tally counter shook his head.

“Min’s not moving,” he said, “She’s Getar’s. I can get you someone new. Some interesting ones coming, even one from your side of the galaxy. Midgard.”

Loki scowled. Of course Getar would have been paying the tally counter to keep Min. Keeping Min meant keeping Loki’s daily payment, as well as ensuring Loki would support him in any inter-cell disputes. He had to, or risk losing Min's protector.

“The midgardian then,” Loki said. Midgardians were weak, but they were clever, and more resilient than Loki would once have thought. Perhaps a midgardian would be useful. If not, well, they had soft skin and soft hair. That had a value here too.

“As you will,” the tally counter said, and sent Loki on his way.

They ate, Loki lost in thought. No one in the cell dared to question the short rations, although Darronu grumbled under his breath. Loki let him. He would be gone soon enough.

The energy fields snapped into place with a loud buzz, but the main deck didn’t depressurize. A murmur went around the deck as people realized that something new was happening. Little enough happened outside of the usual routine that any change was welcome.

A door clanged open at the other end of the deck, and a coffle of new slaves shuffled through. They all had the same dazed look, no doubt Loki had worn it himself when he was first taken. Shocked and afraid, disorientated from the drugs they were given to fit the control implants in their spines. Thinking about it made Loki’s own implant itch. He ignored it, not giving it the dignity of acknowledgement.

The four guards went from cell to cell, pulling people out, putting others in. Getar’s cell was directly opposite Loki’s, and Loki carefully watched as their field came down. The tally counter had told him that Min would not be traded, but he didn't know how much to trust him.

Min wasn’t called, and Loki breathed easier. He was responsible for the girl. She was his page, she had been with him on the outer planets when they were taken. It was his fault they had been there, searching for hidden libraries, when they could have been safe on Asgard. Loki had taken Min away from Asgard, and he would bring her back. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he hardly noticed the guards coming to his cell until the field snapped down. Darronu was called out, and he left with a backwards glare at Loki. Loki nodded at him. He wished him no ill-will. Darronu would most likely do well in another cell, maybe even become the cell-boss himself, if he was lucky.

Loki’s new cell-mate was shoved into the space, tripping and falling, clumsy from the drugs. It was a man, and Loki waited until the shield snapped back into place before going over to him. He would let him know who was in charge of this cell, cut off any problems before they began.

The midgardian groaned and pushed himself up on his hands and knees. “Son of a bitch,” he said, and Loki’s blood froze as that voice triggered a memory. It couldn’t be. No. It couldn’t be!

But it was. The man sat back on his heels and looked around. His gaze locked with Loki, and his shocked disbelief must have been matched on Loki’s own face.

It was Tony Stark.


	2. Mistakes

Stark scrambled back until he hit the wall of the cell, operating on bleary-eyed instinct. The other cell occupants got out of his way, Stark's reaction and the look on Loki’s face telling them to move, and to keep their heads down.

“You!” Loki hissed. He had never thought to see that cursed midgardian again! Anthony Stark. Iron Man. The one who had sauntered into his presence, removed his armor in the middle of battle and offered him a drink. A drink! Stark had insulted him, and he had had the temerity not to die when he rightly should have.

Stark could see his future in Loki’s furious eyes, and it was not pretty. He held up his hands in surrender, “Oh shit. Oh shit. Don't kill me! How are you even here? Hey, funny story, um, well, maybe not so funny, but I was talking to your brother the other day and….” Stark’s voice choked off as Loki strode across the cell and picked him up by his throat. The metal clang of the midgardian's body hitting the bulkhead echoed through the deck, followed by the smaller bangs of his heels drumming helplessly on the metal.

Loki’s mind spun into high gear. Should he simply snap his neck now? End any chance for his past to be revealed, for his weaknesses, his failures to be brought to light in this place. The weak died in here. They died or they were used until they wished they had died.

But Stark was here! On this ship, far from Yggdrasil's reach. How had that happened, what means had he used to be here, did he know how to return to the nine-realms? In a few endless seconds, Loki weighed up the alternatives and decided to let him live. For now. But he would not tolerate any disrespect.

He leaned close to Stark’s ear, feeling the man's frantically pounding pulse under his hand. “You will not speak without my permission, understand?” he said in his ear, his voice low. He kept his voice down, but he was sure the other ten in the cell could hear him well enough. Their survival depended on the moods of their cell-boss, after all. Stark nodded without hesitation, his eyes bulging, his face red, his chest heaving with the desperate need to breathe. Loki removed his hand and let him crash to the ground.

Loki let him lie there and returned to his metal bunk. He looked around the cell, eleven pairs of eyes on him, silence except for the wheezing breath of Stark, struggling to regain his composure. Loki waved his hand. “This is Tony Stark of Midgard,’ he said, pointing his direction. “He is our new cell-mate, and he is not allowed to talk.”

Uncertainty turned to curiosity in a moment, and the eyes all turned to Stark. Loki knew at once he had made a mistake. He had shown his weakness by trying to hide it. Forbidding Stark from talking only told everyone that Stark knew something that Loki did not want known. He may have well have put a sign around his neck; _here be secrets_. It was too late though, if he changed his mind now it would only make him look worse. Indecisive. He would have to come up with something tomorrow. Some excuse to justify his action.

The bare metal was cold on Loki's back as he laid down, irritated with himself. Perhaps he should have snapped Stark’s neck when he had had the chance.

Somewhat to Loki's surprise, Stark was obeying him. He was silent, leaning back against the bulkhead, both hands wrapped around his throat, trying to ease the pain. No doubt he was still woozy from the anesthetic drugs, his spine would be painful from the implants, and perhaps the effects of whatever rough treatment he had endured before ending up on this ship. He must have been ripped away from his home, his friends, his family, his world. Loki needed to know how he came to be here, far from the nine-realms. He may have the clues Loki needed to get Min and himself back home. But not now, not when everyone in the cell was listening.

Stark was staring at him, his eyes wide in the dim light. He was wearing the same clothes they all wore, untearable fabric with thick hems and thick seams in dull grey. Everything here was grey, lifeless and colorless. Except. Loki returned Stark’s gaze. There was a slight blue glow from under his chin, lighting his face from below. The device that had stopped his scepter! The energy source that Loki’s magic had been unable to penetrate. The midgardian still had it!

Sensing Loki's attention, Stark hitched his shirt up to cover the glow. The midgardian was small, and the standard size prison shirt swamped him, the neck too wide, the sleeves hanging below his hands. Loki would have to get him a trade for a smaller one...he cut off his thoughts there. Stark may be in his cell, but that didn’t make him one of Loki’s people. He was not going to be making trades or doing favors to make Stark more comfortable.

Loki did not get attached. He took care of his responsibilities, yes, but nothing more. He had been trained to his duty for his entire life. Just because he could see now the manipulation that Odin and Frigga had put him through, that did not make it any easier to slough it off. No. Loki took care of his own. Of Min, of the people in his cell that his survival depended on, but Stark was not one of them. He was like Darronu. He was in the cell but not one of them. Maybe he would be useful, his knowledge and the device in his chest, but that did not make him any kind of ally.

Thinking of the Tauren, Loki looked around to see where he had ended up. He could only see into the cells directly opposite. The deck was one long open area, with thirty cells on each side. The tally-counter and the guard station was on one end and the airlock and gangway to the shuttle transports on the other. The airlock opened up to vacuum, left that way all night to prevent any escape attempts from the prisoners.

Loki searched the cells he could see into, but couldn’t see Darronu. He shrugged to himself. He had no doubt the man would land on his feet. Loki just hadn’t wanted him in his cell anymore. He was about to close his eyes when a movement directly opposite caught his eye. Getar’s cell, where Min was held. Loki sat upright in shock. Darronu was in that cell! Loki’s heart pounded. Where was Min? His eyes searched the dim light until he saw her in her usual place, at the back of the cell, close to Getar, her cropped curls resting on her arm as she slept, exhausted.

Loki’s stomach churned. This was not good. He had sent Darronu away, thinking to be rid of him, not realizing that there nowhere “away” he could go. That had been a mistake. Another one! Getar was smart and savvy, but Darronu was strong, stupid and selfish. It was a bad combination. Loki could only hope that Getar could keep control of his cell. If Dorronu took over, Loki long-standing arrangement for Min's protection would vanish, and she would be vulnerable.

Laying back again, Loki threw his arm over his eyes, blocking the dim light from the depressurized main deck. Consumed by this own thoughts chasing around his head, Loki even forgot to check for the energy trails of Yggdrasil. This had not been a good day. Perhaps tomorrow would be better.


	3. Work

The next day, their deck moved to another mining location on the same planet. Loki had been hoping for a break from the monotonous ore-sorting that was slowly poisoning them, but that didn't happen. That was not how his luck had gone, lately.

They lined up at the conveyor that would carry ore past them for the next fourteen hours. Loki kept an eye on Stark, even though he seemed to be behaving for now. He had eaten his allowed ration quietly that morning, and lined up with the rest of them to take the shuttle down to the mine. His had been quiet, but his eyes darted everywhere, drinking in his surroundings. He stood next to Jranios and Jaravbor, two krylorian males from their cell. They were twins, or like enough to be twins, and they generally kept to themselves, talking little, smiling less. They seemed to have made space for Stark, and Loki noted it but didn’t intervene. Stark had to stand somewhere, after all.

Stark hitched up his too-big shirt, and Loki frowned when he realized he had no protective gloves. Dorronu had taken his with him when he left the cell. Stark’s soft midgardian flesh would not stand up to even a day of handling the razor sharp chemical chunks. Before the conveyor started up, Loki pulled off one of his own gloves and tossed it to Stark, who caught it with surprise.

“Don’t touch the ore with your bare skin,” Loki said, “Not if you want to keep it.”

Stark yanked the glove onto his hand and pointed to his mouth.

Loki nodded his permission. Stark had been obedient to his command for silence, so he would allow him to speak now, before the noise of the conveyor drowned out even thoughts.

“Thanks man,” the midgardian said. He hitched his shirt up yet again, covering his collarbone, the dip at the base on his neck, as well as the tell-tale glow of the energy device in his chest. “Erm, you wanna tell me where we are, and what the hell is going on?”

Loki gave him a pitying look. He would perhaps explain it to him later, but for now, he only needed to know one thing. “Make your tally today, Stark. If you do not, you will not eat.”

The buzzer sounded and the conveyor began to move, slow at first, empty of the ore that would flood down it in a few more moments.

“I don’t know what my tally is!” Stark shouted above the noise.

Loki rolled his eyes and pointed to the two large bins behind him. “Fill them!” he shouted back, “Pick out the ore from the rubble. We all make tally, we all eat.” He had time for nothing more before the first grinding roll of ore came towards them.

Using only one hand, he made slower progress that usual, but he did his best to keep up the pace and not let his cell down. Loki usually made enough over the tally to cover any weaker members, as well as to pay out for favors and bribes. With him hampered, and a new member on the team, Loki already feared they would be short that day. Once he had a handle on his own pace and rhythm, Loki glanced up to check on the others. He did not tolerate slackers, those who relied on others to toil and didn’t pull their own weight. He had had to teach a few lessons in that regard when he first came to this place, and losing Darronu and adding Stark may have disrupted the work of the team.

To his horror, Stark was not filling his bins. It had been over an hour, and his bins were completely empty! Even if he started working at this moment, there was no way he could make tally by the end of the shift. Loki was ready to reach over the conveyor and throttle the man, let his body be carried down the line as a warning to others, when he realized what the midgardian was doing.

He was pre-sorting the ore. Using his one gloved hand, he was pushing the rubble to the center and pulling the good ore to the front, making two channels, one for ‘mostly ore’ and one for ‘mostly rubble’. Jranios, standing next to him, refined the sort, cleaning up the ore and grabbing any big chunks Stark had missed from the center. All Jaravbor had to do was scoop the ore and dump it in his bin. Scoop, turn, dump. Scoop, turn, dump. His first bin was already full, and even as Loki watched the two krylorians switched out the full bin for an empty one, and started filling that one too.

Between the three of them, the two krylorians and the midgardian, they would have six full bins well before the end of their shift.

Loki glanced back at his own bin, not even a sixth full, shut his mouth, and kept working.

By the end of the shift the team of three across from him had filled seven and a half bins. They had slowed down towards the end of the brutally long shift. Stark’s eyes were drooping, his shoulders low, he often stretched and tried to ease his lower back. The two krylorians fared better, but without Stark’s energy keeping them moving, they slowed down too.

Loki barely made tally, the rest of the team were a little over or under, nothing different than usual. Loki collected the work tokens from the team, and was surprised to realize they had ended the day well. He had enough to pay Getar, to pay the tally-counter, and to get their full ration, with a little left over.

The midgardian silently returned Loki’s glove, pointing at his mouth as he did so. Loki nodded again, they had nothing to do but stand around on the deck until the tally office opened anyway.

“OK, so we’re slaves?” Stark asked, getting right to the point. No doubt he had pent up his questions all day.

“Yes, Stark. We are slaves,” Loki confirmed. There was no point in trying to sweeten that harsh truth. They may be called prisoners, but they had committed no crimes, they had no length to their sentences, and they were forced to work without pay. They were slaves. They had never even seen their masters. Whoever owned the ship had never showed their face on the lower decks.

Stark absorbed that information with a stoic nod. “Are you gonna kill me?" he asked, "I mean, maybe later I would appreciate it, but for now I’d like to keep living, if it’s all the same to you. Also, I physically cannot keep my mouth shut for an extended time, so if you could just chill out on the strangling as well I would appreciate it. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna be telling tales behind your back, maybe we should even join forces…”

Loki let Stark yammer on, scanning the crowd for Min. The girl was short, shorter even than Stark, and she was hard to spot. Stark was not his concern. If he was going to behave, and perhaps even help their cell, Loki would let him be. Min however, needed him. He saw Getar and drifted in his direction, letting Stark’s voice fade out behind him, ignored.

One token slipped into Getar’s hand and Loki strolled on. He didn’t need to warn Getar about Darronu. If the man was not already well aware of the threat, he did not deserve Loki’s help. In fact, if Darronu looked to be ready to take over his cell, Loki could even help him. A favor in that regard might pay off for Min later. With such thoughts in his head, Loki’s eyes finally fell on Min. She was sitting on the deck, her back to the wall, her head in her hands.

Loath to show any affection to the girl that might make her a target, Loki walked by and hissed, “Get up,” as he passed. She jerked awake and scrambled to her feet, following Loki to stand with a group, facing apart from each other.

Loki glanced over at her drawn face, the bags under her eyes, the grey tone to her dark skin. She had aged years in the months they had been here, no longer a bright young girl, she was aged by fear and by endless hard labor. “Min, you are well?” he asked, although the answer was obvious.

The girl nodded, “Yes, Loki,” she whispered. It had taken days to train her out of calling him ‘my prince’, and even now she stumbled over his name. She flinched as the tally-counter hatch opened with a clang, the noise echoing through the metal deck. Loki turned to move in that direction, but Min dared to put her small hand on his sleeve. “Darronu…” she stammered, and Loki’s attention snapped back to her.

“What did he do?” he demanded, already furious, ready to kill the man if he had put even one finger on Min.

She shrugged, miserable. “He told me it won’t be long,” she said, and Loki knew at once what that meant. Once the cells were locked down for the night, there would be nothing he could do to help her.

“I’ll deal with it,” he said, his stomach in knots. Darronu had no care for him, and likely knew Loki had asked for him to be moved. Terrorizing Min may be nothing more than his revenge on Loki. Trading him out had been a mistake. He had put Min in danger and landed himself with Stark. He would trade them back in an instant if he could.

“I'll deal with it," he repeated, trying to convinced both himself and his page. "But if he does anything,” he added carefully, weighing his words to avoid scaring her further, but also trying to give her information that she needed. “If he does anything, tell him I will pay him protection for you. He knows that I can deliver. If…” he paused, but here was no nice way to say this. “If that doesn’t work, don’t fight. It only hurts more if you fight, girl. I know.”

Min nodded as she gulped down air and stifled her sob in her sleeve. Loki moved away, leaving her standing alone on the hard metal deck. It would do no good to let others know he cared about her. He could do nothing more for her than he was already doing. Any comfort he could offer would be nothing more than a sentimental lie, and sentiment was of no value here.

He swept his gaze around the deck. There was a line at the tally-counter and he needed to be in it before they closed the hatch and began lock-down. But he had one more thing to do. He found Darronu, lounging against a wall, arms folded on his broad chest, his flat face blank. It was a gamble, but he had to see to his responsibilities. He dropped a token in Darronu’s hand as he walked by. “For Min,” he said, and walked on. He didn’t stay to talk. Like sentiment, words had no value here. Only tokens mattered. Either Darronu would take the offer or he wouldn’t.

Loki turned in the rest of his team’s tokens. His payments to Getar, Darronu and the tally-counter putting them right back at tally. At least they would get a full ration that night. All of Stark's and the krylorian’s extra work was gone, and Loki still had no small shirt or extra protective gloves for the midgardian.

Loki ground his teeth when he saw Stark himself was waiting for him outside the cell.

“What do you want,” he growled.

“Who’s the kid?” Stark asked, and Loki turned to him, his rage boiling over in an instant.

“If you so much as look at her,” he hissed, “I will toss you in the ore-crusher without a second thought.”

He shoved Stark back against the bulkhead and entered the cell, hearing the buzzer for lock-down vibrate the walls around him. His spiteful heart hoped that Stark would stay where he was, and get sucked out through the airlock. He was disappointed when Jranios ghosted out to pull him into the safety of the cell a minute before the energy field went up. So much for an easy solution to one of his problems.

The cell waited in breathless silence, Loki's tension bleeding through them all. The food and water thumped onto the floor, delivered through the ceiling pipe, but no one touched it. No one so much as looked at it. Even Stark, taken aback by Loki's explosion of temper, did not make a sound.

Loki calmed himself down. He was losing control. He could feel it slipping away, every advantage he had worked to build up over the past months. It was all at risk. Min's safety was at risk, after everything he had done to keep her from that fate. He had even put himself in her place, before he had regained enough strength to claim his position as cell-boss and start paying for her protection.

Luckily, he knew who to blame for all this misfortune. The newcomer - Tony Stark of Midgard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki needs to take a chill pill, poor guy!


	4. Dissent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki is kind of an asshole in the chapter... tags are updated!

Loki watched Min’s cell all night, but there was no movement there. Either Darronu had taken his offer, or he was biding his time. Loki stared out over the featureless deck, his mind churning over and over on the calculation of work, tokens, food and responsibility. He could not afford to keep paying three tokens every day. That was a fact, and there was no way around it. He had to make a decision.

Stop paying the tally-counter, and lose out on a source of trades and information. Stop paying Darronu, and risk Min’s safety. Or stop paying Getar, and hope Darronu could take over his position as cell boss.

The thoughts chased around and around his head, and he could not sleep, the endless noise of the deck seeping into his subconscious. Crying and sobbing, the obscene grunts of those strong enough to force those weaker to their will. The clanging of metal from deeper in the ship and the humming and buzzing of unknown devices. It was not a restful medley, comprised of misery and machinery.

Loki twitched his fingers, repeatedly reaching for his power and finding nothing but a hollow void in his chest. Without his seidr, Loki may still be strong, quick and clever, but so were a dozen others on this deck alone. Without the protection of his name, of his status, of his family, he only had himself to rely on. That was little enough protection, as he had discovered when he and Min were first brought on-board, and the processing crew decided they were in need of  _ entertainment.  _ Loki’s heart pounded at the memory, and he diverted his thoughts, taking a deep calming breath. He had done what he had to do, and it wasn’t even the first time. He had survived it before and he had survived it this time too. It was nothing.

In need of something else to think about, he glanced over at Stark, sprawled out on the floor next to Jranios. His bad luck had started before Stark appeared on the ship, but his free-floating anger and despair needed a target and Stark was convenient. Even knowing that he was being irrational, the sight of the Midgardian still set Loki’s teeth on edge. How had he even come to be here? As far as Loki knew, Midgard had no meaningful space travel, and no access to the bifrost or the hidden pathways of the world tree. How he had come to be on this ship was unknown. If Loki could control his temper long enough, he could even ask the man about it.

Stark’s ill-fitting shirt had fallen to the side, revealing his neck and shoulder, and the glowing blue light of the energy device. Loki pondered it, curious. The value of the device, surely, was far more than the value of Stark’s labor. Why had the slave-masters not simply extracted it for sale? Loki presumed Stark would die from it’s loss, but this ship had little shortage of slaves. Slaves were cheap. Devices like Stark’s were rare and precious. Perhaps the processing crew were not aware, and a small voice in Loki’s mind wondered if he should tell them.

He put that thought to the side for later examination, and lay with his spiraling thoughts until the airlock clanged shut, and the long hiss of re-pressurization woke his cell mates. It was another day.

They ate their morning meal in silence, the same canned, cold gruel as they had been fed the previous day, and every other day.

“Teach them your method, with the ore,” Loki ordered Stark, breaking the silence and making the man twitch in surprise. To Loki’s relief, Stark didn’t crow or gloat over Loki's request. He simply outlined the method that he and the Krylorians had used the day before to beat their tally. Loki needed any advantage he could get, and he would certainly use Stark’s methods. He still had to pay for Min’s protection, after all.

At the processing line, there was confusion at first. Used to keeping their heads down and focusing on their own tasks, it took some time for the cell to get used to teamwork. Stark kept them focused, and once they picked it up, work progressed well. Stark and Loki stood at the head of the conveyor, one gloved hand each. They completed the first pass on the ore, then successive sorts and scoops refined it until the rubble reached the end of the line.

Every time a word of instruction, praise or encouragement passed Stark’s lips, a coil of tension wound tighter and tighter in Loki’s belly. He was the cell-boss, not Stark. His team should take instruction from him, not from anyone else. Loki could not acknowledge the inconvenient fact that he had told Stark to teach them, and that Stark was only doing what he had told him to do. It mattered not. Stark was a threat. Loki had to be cell-boss if he was going to protect Min, and he had to protect Min if he was ever going to hold his head up as a prince or a warrior ever again. The girl was his responsibility. He was her prince, her protector, and he knew his duty.

Yet again, Tony Stark was the fly in his potion, but his methods worked. Loki ground his teeth and counted out seven extra tokens when their shift ended fourteen hours later.

Stark cornered him on the shuttle back to the ship, dropping into the seat next to him before takeoff, covered with dust and sweat.

“So who’s in charge of this operation?” he asked, as though Loki would know, as though Stark had any right to demand answers from him. At the last thread of his control, Loki could not tolerate such a thing.

“You are not teaching here, Stark, and I did not give you permission to speak,” he informed him with a cold glare.

Stark gave him an incredulous look, “Are you serious? I’m not your enemy here, reindeer games. Listen, maybe you like it here but…”

Timing his move, Loki shoved Stark out of his seat at the exact moment the automated safety restraints came down. The Midgardian was loose in the cabin and unrestrained as the shuttle was about to take off. The stern door closed with a motorized whine.

“Dude!” Stark cursed at him, then, “Oh shit.” Everyone else in the shuttle had a horse-shoe shaped padded metal bar holding their shoulders back against the bulkhead, and pinning them safely in their seat. The ride from the mining site to the slave-ship was turbulent, and from the look on his face Stark knew exactly how much trouble he was in.

Loki kept his face impassive. Stark had brought this on himself with his disobedience and his disrespect. Jranios reached out his hand from where he was locked into his seat, encouraging Stark to scramble over to him and hold on. The vibration in the hold was already making it hard to Stark to stand.

"No," Loki ordered Jranios. The man stared at him, biting his lip, but he retracted his hand and his offer of help, hanging his head.

The shuttle lurched, and Stark slipped and slammed down on the deck, his wrist bent awkwardly under his body. Loki reached out and grabbed Stark by that wrist, holding him still as the shuttle jolted and jumped.

"Apologize," Loki demanded, loud enough to be heard by the entire team over the roar of the shuttle engines. "Apologize or I will let you go. It's a 45 minute ride. Do you think you'd still be conscious at the end of it?"

Stark grabbed on to the metal of Loki's shoulder harness with his free hand, pulled his face close to Loki's. "You're screwed up, you know that?" He was yelling over the noise of the shuttle, too angry to be afraid. "You think you're the king of your own little kingdom here? You're a slave just like the rest of us!”

Loki let him go. The shuttle dropped and Stark couldn’t hold on without Loki's help. His feet left the deck as the shuttle fell out from under him and he hit the roof hard, coming down with blood streaming from his nose. Loki caught him again when the shuttle stabilized.

“Last chance,” he said. He tried to hide the trickle of fear that Stark truly was stubborn enough to defy him. He would force Loki to let him slam about the cabin for 45 minutes, and probably end up dead by the end of it.

Loki looked him in the eyes. He saw nothing but contempt there, but the man was not stupid, thanks the Norns.

Stark licked his bloody lips. “I apologize,” he forced out, and Loki was wise enough not to push him any further. He shoved Stark down to his knees on the metal floor and locked him in place with his legs. To protect his delicate Midgardian neck, Loki put one hand on the back of his head, holding it to his belly, smearing his shirt with the man's blood.

Stark may be uncomfortable, but he was safe. Loki ignored the wide-eyes stared of the rest of his cell. They should all take a lesson from this.

Loki would not tolerate dissent.


	5. Reward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the weekend everyone! I hope you're all enjoying this story, it's a little different to my usual stuff, but I'm sure you recognize some themes/tropes if you have read any of my other fics! Please let me know what you think in the comments!

As soon as the shuttle landed, Stark shoved himself away from Loki and headed for the exit, wiping his bloody face on his sleeve. Loki let him go. The man had apologized and everyone had heard it. Loki had enforced his discipline and that was all he could do. He could not let that arrogant Midgardian undermine him.

The team filed out of the shuttle, heads down and silent. They should have been jubilant at the amount of work they had completed that day, but instead they were fearful and uncertain. They all knew that something was going on between the Loki and Stark. Any kind of power struggle in the cell was a threat to everyone in it. Loki would have to address it, but he first had to take care of his responsibilities. He paid Getar, checked on Min, then paid Darronu. The Tauren gave him a smug smile, which Loki ignored.

He was late to the tally-counter and had to wait in line for his turn. He did not like to linger at this end of the deck. Next to the guard station and the tally-counter was the punishment equipment. The whipping post, the hanging shackles, the pillory. He had never seen them used in the time he had been on the ship, but old blood and the aura of misery still clung to them. Loki faced the other way.

The punishment equipment wasn't used because it wasn't needed. Instead of the guards enforcing discipline, the slaves disciplined themselves. The way the deck was set up was designed to enforce compliance. If one person didn’t work, their whole cell was punished. The system relied on that practice of collective punishment. Freeloaders would not be tolerated. Loki was not unaware that he had taken up that role himself. He was doing exactly what the slave-masters wanted. He forced his team make tally every day. He punished anyone who refused to work. He was the masters' agent, whoever they were. But what else could he do? He could not crawl through the hand-sized slot to the tally counter. He could not walk through the airless vacuum of space, even if he could open the energy field to his cell. He was a piece in the mysterious masters' machine, and as much as he hated it, he complied.

He paid the tally-counter and held the four extra tokens under his palm on the counter. He needed more gloves, and he needed to show his team that their hard work would get them something more than just their regular rations. He had to prove that he still was a worthy cell-boss, and crush any thoughts that Stark may be a better choice than him. The tally-counter slowly counted out tokens while they bickered under their breath, but Loki was satisfied with his trade when he handed over his four extra tokens a few minutes later.

Stark was already in the cell, sitting with his back to the wall, a dark bruise swelling both his eyes half-shut. He looked at Loki, the anger gone, replaced by tiredness. The others who had already taken refuge in the cell glanced between the two of them and hurried back out to the main deck, leaving them alone.

Loki sat on his bunk, which in truth was just a long metal bench set across the back of the cell. It was no more comfortable than the floor where the others slept, but it was a symbol of his status.

“OK,” Stark said, still not cowed by Loki despite what he had done, “You made your point. You’re stronger than me, and more ruthless, and you'll hurt me if I piss you off. I get it, Loki, really I do, but do you understand that you’re fighting on the wrong front? I’m not your enemy. Not anymore. Don’t you want to get out of here?”

Loki glared at him. This Midgardian with his too-big, blood-stained shirt and his probably-broken nose. He was infuriating, and his rebellion was going to get other people hurt.

“How do you plan to accomplish that?” Loki asked, keeping his tone mild. “In case you had not noticed, we are floating in space on a slave-ship. We are far from even the farthest-flung branches of Ygdrassil. We have these,” he indicated the implant in his spine, “I don't advise testing out its functions, by the way. It is unpleasant.”

Stark nodded along to his litany, but did not seem impressed. “Yeah, all that’s true. But that’s not all. We have my brain, and I’m a genius. We have your brain, and I hear you’re a pretty smart guy as well. We have this,” he tapped his chest, his energy-device glowing above his collar. “We have each other. Or at least, we could. Listen, Thor told a lot of wild tales after he took you back home. About a fall that wasn’t a fall, about a ‘Mad Titan’, about torture, coercion...”

“You shut your mouth!” Loki snapped, jumping up from his bench, his heart pounding, his hand raised ready to backhand Stark if he said another word. “Thor is telling you nothing but lies! He thinks to lessen my disgrace, but he knows nothing! Nothing! You will say no more!” Loki’s vision swam, a blur of stars, grey featureless rock, a floating throne. A vision of his own body torn open, of pain and begging and denial. "I forbid you to speak of it!" He managed to force the words out. He could not allow Stark to spread such lies. This was no place for pity, no place for weakness.

Stark held his hands up, a look on his face that Loki could not decipher. “OK, I won’t talk about you,” he said, soothing, as though to a wild beast. “But let me tell you something about me. This isn’t my first rodeo. Not with kidnapping, forced labor, imprisonment. None of it. I know compliance will buy time, but time for what? Time for them to break you? Time for you to break me? Time for you to force everyone in this cell to work harder?" Stark waved Loki back to the bunk, and Loki's legs collapsed under him, thudding back down to the bare metal. Stark leaned forward, lowering his voice.

"How long can you protect that kid of yours in this place? Believe me, it won’t be long enough. You’re doing their work for them. Compliance is death here, Loki, and I think you already know that.”

The buzzer sounded for lock-down, saving Loki from having to reply. The ten other members of the cell gathered at the entrance, shuffling their feet. No one wanted to be the first to step into the tense atmosphere of the cell.

Ignoring Stark’s bruised eyes on him, Loki waved them inside. He would rather not have company, but there was nowhere else for them to go. Their implants prevented them from going into a cell that was not their own, and if they stayed outside they would die when the deck depressurized. They hurried inside and took their usual positions around the cell in nervous silence.

The energy field snapped across the bulkhead a moment later, and the ceiling delivery tube activated. Food and water fell through, thumping on the ground. There was a pause, and when the tube didn’t close, Loki stood up on shaking legs and caught the tightly wrapped parcel that arrived next. He set it on the bench next to him where everyone could see. He nodded at them all the eat, and they did, the nervous tension from moments ago replaced with quiet excitement.

Loki ate his own food slowly, letting the visceral fear of his flashback subside. That part of his life was over. It was over, and as bad as things were here, they would never be as bad as that. He allowed the food and time to calm him down, letting the memories fade away, getting back to where he needed to be.

He made them wait until they had all eaten, then, drawing out the moment, he picked up the package and unwrapped it. The outer layer was a pair of new gloves tucked into each other. Loki peeled them off and stuffed them into his waistband, tossing his old gloves over to Stark, who caught them with a surprised look. Inside the bundle were five food bars. Not the sticky, tasteless gruel that they had just eaten, but actual chewable, biteable, tastable food. The smell of sugar filled the cell as soon as he opened the first plastic wrapper, triggering a buzz of excitement.

Loki split the bars and gave half to everyone except himself and Stark. Stark had already got his reward, and he would not favor him with two items when everyone else only got one. He could not help but smirk at Stark’s look of hunger and betrayal when he realized he wasn’t getting any, but that was just a bonus.

Fairness, he told himself, was his motivation. Not petty spite. Not at all.


	6. Tony

Stark was right, that was the problem. Loki was being slowly ground down and worse, so was Min. The girl had little of his resilience, and mental strength. She had gone with him to Tornatt expecting a few weeks of rummaging through abandoned libraries and ancient archives. He had chosen her for her love of books and her elegant writing hand. Of any page he could have picked, she was the least equipped for this long grind for survival. Loki’s gut twisted as he recalled her mother waving goodbye to her at the bifrost. A combination of pride and tears had shone on her face as she sent her young daughter on such a prestigious assignment. Accompanying the second prince on a research trip was a big step up for her and her family.

Loki’s name was still good on Asgard, his mother had seen to that. He had been confined to his rooms until she had talked Odin around, but even that had been played off as his recovery from an illness. If he had been sent to the dungeons in disgrace, as he probably deserved, Min would even now be on Asgard, sneaking into the royal library in her spare time and dreaming of adventures.

Instead, she was a slave, doing her best to disappear. She curled up in corners, head down, eyes on the floor. She stood in Getar’s shadow, afraid of him but needing his protection, and Loki could tell the man was losing patience with her. As far as Loki could tell she was a good worker, she had the stamina of an Asgardian, at least. If she had not been making tally Loki was sure Getar would have let him know and demand that he make up the difference.

Loki sighed, staring through the energy field and out of the open airlock, watching the unfamiliar heavens drift by as they orbited the mining planet. Stark was right. Loki’s compliance was getting him nothing. He was no closer to escape than he had been three months ago. All he had accomplished was to act exactly as the masters wanted. He made up his mind to talk to Stark tomorrow. At least to find out how he had arrived on this ship.

He sat upright on his metal bunk. Why wait? It was late at night, and the rest of the cell, Stark included, were all asleep. Loki didn’t need much sleep, and he typically used the nights to order his thoughts. He balled up one of the empty food-bar wrappers and tossed it at Stark, bonking him lightly on the arm. He didn’t wake, so Loki did the same again, this time landing the projectile on Stark’s bruised and swollen nose. That got his attention, his eyes blinking open, confused at the sudden sting.

“Over here,” Loki called in a low voice, and Stark’s dark eyes swiveled over to him. “Come here,” he ordered, impatient with the man’s sleepiness. Stark pushed himself to his feet and picked his way over sleeping bodies to Loki’s bench. He sat down without asking, covering his wide yawn with one hand, facing Loki with crossed legs.

“‘Sup, your Lokiness?” he asked. Loki’s blood pressure spiked at his casual disrespect, and Stark must have seen it on his face because he held up one hand, “Alright, alright. Chill. I get it, you’re king of the crab-bucket. Your royal highness? King crab? How’s that?”

“Just call me Loki, Stark. Everyone else does.” Loki ran his hands through his hair, frustrated. He was not intending to argue with Stark, but the man was a constant irritant, like sand against his skin. How his brother tolerated him, even spoke highly of him, Loki would never know.

“Sure thing, if you call me Tony,” the man replied, thinking to bargain even in the matter of names.

“Fine! Fine.” Loki tried to redirect his thoughts, taking a deep breath. “How did you come to be here?” he asked, not wanting to waste more time and get even more distracted.

Stark nodded, “OK, finally asking the important questions. Good. Let’s talk. I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours, deal?”

Loki pressed his lips together and ground his teeth, which would surely be nothing but nubs by the time he was through talking to Stark. “You will tell me or I will punish you,” he countered. “Do not think us allies, Stark. I will not make deals with pathetic mortals! We are enemies! I invaded your planet! Do you not recall? I hear it was spectacular.”

“Yeah it was,” Stark replied, settling back against the hard bulkhead, getting as comfortable as he could. “It was, first time for everything, right? Are you sure we’re enemies? Really sure? Nothing like, oh I don’t know, someone-you-forbade-me-to-talk-about out there? Hmm?”

Loki took another deep breath. And another.

“This was a mistake,” he said, “Go back to sleep, you have nothing useful to tell me.”

“I came through a portal,” Stark said, ignoring his demand. “I was working with Jane Foster on replicating the technology to open the bifrost. I realized pretty quickly it would be easier to bypass the bifrost part, just jump on the energy flow at the nearest point, hitch a ride on the river, you know? Not punch a tunnel in a straight line?”

Loki leaned forward, intrigued despite himself. “You think you can  _ improve _ on the bifrost?” he asked. He did not mention that the method that Stark described, flowing with the energy of Yggdrasil, was the same method that he himself used to travel between worlds.

Stark waggled his hand in the air, “Not improve, as such,” he said, “Just do something different. I don’t have the kind of energy that it takes to open the bifrost. I would have to set off a nuke every time I wanted to go somewhere! Not very practical. But to step into the flow and steer a path, that’s a whole lot easier.”

Loki glanced around the cell. No one stirred, although if anyone was awake and listening it would be hard to tell. There was only dim light from the main deck, plus the glow of the stars outside the airlock. They were still beautiful, maybe even more beautiful for being seen from such a low vantage point.

“Where did your portal take you?” he asked, suddenly feeling sure that he already knew the answer.

“Thor told me to try the closest habitable planet. Physically closest, not closest by Bifrost. He said it would be safe, and he would travel there by bifrost and pick me up for the return journey. One of the outer planets…”

“Tornatt?” Loki interrupted, excited despite himself, “You were captured on Tornatt?”

Stark nodded, and Loki’s mind took off into high gear, sloughing off the months of anxiety about tokens, food, protection, status and base level survival.

“The slavers operate on Tornatt! They were not just passing through, so they must have a way to travel between here and there. We are far enough away that I can’t feel even a whisper of the energy of Yggdrasil, but they can travel quickly enough that we were already here when I recovered from the stunner they used on me. It was powerful, very powerful, but it can’t have been more than 12 hours. There must be...”

Stark interrupted him back, “There must be a stable wormhole between here and there!”

Loki wrinkled his nose, “Wormhole?” he said, as though tasting something unpleasant, “You mean an Arcane Gateway?”

The Midgardian snorted, “Sure, that’s what we should take away from this, Loki. Wormhole is a stupid name.”

Despite himself, a genuine smile crept across Loki's face. “Well when we find it, Tony, you may crawl through your hole like a worm. I, on the other hand, will step through my Arcane Gateway like the prince and master-sorcerer I am.”

Tony held out his hand, “Friends?” he asked, an answering smile lighting up his own face, bruises and all.

“For now,” Loki conceded, grasping Tony's forearm in the Asgardian style, “For now.”


	7. Crunch

Loki looked around with fresh eyes that morning. He needed as much information as he could gather. He scanned the deck and the airlock, looking for access panels, controls, insignia, anything that could help. Any piece of information about the ship or about their captors, no matter how small, could be useful. The slavers were connected to Tornatt somehow. That new information that Stark had given him yesterday had triggered his new mindset. What was the link to Tornatt?

The original inhabitants of Tornatt were long gone, their civilization wiped from the planet by weather and time. They had left intriguing glimpses of technology and artifacts, as well as the hidden libraries that Loki had been looking for. Their world was stable, the climate agreeable. It was a long standing mystery what had happened to them. Loki pondered it on the shuttle ride, Stark sitting next to him in the same seat Loki had thrown him out of the day before. The bruises on his face were still dark, and Loki was reminded again how fragile Midgardians were. On an Asgardian, those marks would be gone already.

They didn’t talk, but the tension between them was gone, and everyone in the cell could sense it. The others talked between themselves, a far easier atmosphere than had been present for the last few days. 

They was becoming adept at their ore-sorting task, especially now that Stark and Loki could use two hands, and the stress of making tally was largely gone. Despite that, the long shift was still grueling. The noise of the machinery pounded on their ears, and the dust of the rubble and ore hung in the air. Loki noticed Stark coughing, and furrowed his brow. The dust was probably irritating his lungs. Looking down the line he saw similar coughs in a few others. Not all races were as resilient as Asgardians, and Loki made up his mind to get them some breathing masks if he could. The ore dust was probably as toxic to their lungs as the ore itself was to their hands.

Stark mumbled under his breath, his voice almost lost in the grind of the crusher, “We need a way off the deck, into the main ship. Have you ever been through the guard door? It’s an airlock, right?”

Loki shook his head. He had glimpsed through that door but never been through it. The guards, when they brought new slaves, came by shuttle through the main airlock, not through the body of the ship. Besides, the guard door was next to the punishment area, and Loki did not care to linger there.

“OK," Stark said, "I’ll look for any controls on our side, even if the panel is sealed over. It’s a start.”

They had extra tokens that day, but breathing masks were just not available. The tally-counter shrugged and didn’t even try to negotiate, telling Loki that he couldn’t get them. Instead, he offered cloth, which Loki had little choice but to accept.

That night, along with the food, Loki caught a stack of cloth squares that they could use as bandanas. Loki unwrapped the bundle with great ceremony, pleased that he could create this moment of anticipation, even hope, for his cell. Where the tally-counter had got these from Loki had no idea, but the team chattered with excitement at the sight of the colors. Every square was different. Their world in the ship was grey, dull and lifeless. Seeing the colorful bandanas unwrapped from the bundle was like seeing a flower bloom before their eyes.

Choosing first, Loki took a green cloth for himself. It was not his rich emerald green, more of a dull mossy color, but still, it gave him a spark of his spirit back. He laid out the other cloths on the bench and invited Stark to pick next. It was only fair, as it was Stark’s method that had opened the door to such rewards.

With a wink at Loki, Stark picked red, of course. Loki didn't comment. He called up each person in turn to make their choice, in the order he felt they were most deserving - hardest workers first. He warned them to keep the cloths hidden under their clothes, because the other prisoners would probably steal them if they could. There was a buzz in the cell as the team compared their prizes. A few trades were made, bandanas were tried on and the results laughed at.

Jranios and Jaravbor, Tony’s two Krylorian friends, had chosen colors as similar to each other as they could get, one taking pink and the other a soft peach. They each solemnly tied their cloth around the other’s upper arm, under their shirt. The tender look they shared made Loki wonder if they were actually not related at all.

Their light mood turned sour in an instant when the lockdown buzzer sounded. The deck was already locked down. This could not be good news. Everyone scrambled to hide their bandanas, suddenly fearful that they would be taken away after just a few moments of ownership.

Loki's eyes snapped to Stark, something about his demeanor drawing attention. Stark bit his lip, his hand straying to the rolled up hems of his pants, and Loki was at his side in an instant.

“What did you take?” he asked, his lips barely moving.

Not bothering to deny it, Stark showed him the small piece of metal in his hand. A broken-off lever, smaller than his little finger, the perfect size for prying and loosening switches and panels.

“You fool,” Loki sighed, his heart sinking, “You think they do not scan the cells? Did you think it would be so easy?”

The deck was pressurizing, and Loki had little doubt the guards would be at their door in a few moments. Loki had been in the hands of those guards before, and they were vicious. Stark was Midgardian, weak, slow to heal. Loki calculated. He needed Stark. He needed his brain, his energy device, his determination to get home. Before Stark’s arrival, Loki had been drowning. He could see it now, and he was not going to risk going back to that half-life. Making up his mine, he snatched the piece of metal out of Stark’s hand.

“Sit down,” he ordered, shoving the man back to the bulkhead.

Stark tried to grab the metal back, alarmed, “What are you doing? Loki! What are you doing?”

Loki didn’t waste time arguing. “You two,” he said to Jranios and Jaravbor, “Your friend will die if they take him. Shut him up.”

The Krylorians hustled Stark to the back of the cell, still arguing and calling Loki’s name. The other prisoners joined them, pressing to the back while Loki stood alone by the energy field, the piece of contraband in his hand. He kept his back to the cell. He did not want his team to see his face. They did not need to know that he was afraid.

The guard door opened and six guards pounded through. Loki recognized the same captain that he had encountered at processing. He took a deep breath. He would survive. He would live, and Stark would live, and they would get out. He dropped his new bandana and gloves on the floor and kicked them to the side. No need to lose them. Across the deck, Min stood at the energy field. Getar was at her shoulder, and Darronu sat back near the wall, watching the activity with an expression of disinterest. Min raised her hand, fist clenched, tears shining on her face. She knew something bad was happening, but did not know what. Loki returned her brave gesture, a spark of the girl’s courage landing in his heart. 

The guards stopped in front of his cell. 

“Well, well, if it isn’t Prince Loki,” the captain said with a delighted grin. “Your royal father didn’t come to destroy us all yet? What was his name, again? Ormin? Orrin?” Loki bitterly regretted the empty threats he had tossed around at processing. He had lost his head, he could see that now, the very thought of being in enemy hands again had sent his mind spinning. He had given away too much, and of course these guards were unimpressed with claims of royal blood and vengeance. No doubt every new slave said something similar.

The captain didn’t wait for a response, enjoying himself too much. “So maybe you didn’t know, Prince Loki, but the rules apply to you too. No contraband. Give it up.”

Loki opened his hand and showed the metal lever, the end sheared off to a point. The captain laughed, his mouth twisted in a mocking sneer. “Look like we get to go another round or two, Prince Loki.” He stepped closer, his broad face close to the energy field. In a whisper that echoed throughout the deck, he hissed, “Did you miss me? Because  _ I _ missed  _ you.” _

Loki kept his face impassive, but his belly churned. He knew what his punishment would entail, and it took everything he had to stop himself from shaking apart.

The captain pulled out a control device, pushed a button and the energy field dropped. No one moved, behind Loki's back a breathless silence swallowed all sound. The other guards all carried stunners, and no one wanted to get hit with one of those excruciating blasts.

“Take him,” the captain ordered, and pushed another button.

There was a burning spark and then a  _ crunch _ from the implant in Loki’s spine. The noise alone made Loki want to vomit, but worse, when he tried to take a step he could no longer control his body. 

Without even a sound, he crumpled to the floor, limbs splayed, twitching helplessly. A puppet with his strings cut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Loki is gonna get whumped pretty hard in the next chapter. Just advance warning for you all. I will update tags and warn in the notes. Suggestions welcome, but no promises that I will be able to use them!


	8. Punishment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags are updated, rating is updated! Loki has a very bad time in this chapter.

They kept him for three days.

The first night, the guard captain had him dragged to his cabin and dumped on the bed, still paralyzed. The spinal implant was targeted with surgical precision. It left Loki able to feel everything, but unable to move anything more than his eyes, and unable to speak, only to moan.

But moan he did.

The captain liked to hear it, and Loki could not hold it back. This was not like his experience at processing. That had been opportunistic and hurried, painful and humiliating but ultimately endurable. This was punishment, and it seemed that the gleeful captain did not get many opportunities to have this kind of fun.

He stripped Loki naked and made sure he could see as he tossed his clothing in the incinerator hatch. He beat him with his fists, using him as a punching bag, as a living target for his rage and frustration. When he had enough of that, breathing hard and stroking himself over his pants, he spread Loki's legs and raped him. It was purely a show of dominance. He was vicious, brutal, barely seeming to take any pleasure from the act, only ensuring he hurt Loki as much as he could.

Still unsatisfied, red-faced and muttering under his breath, the captain produced a whip of dirty leather strands. He held it in front of Loki's eyes, making sure he knew what was coming before he whipped him. He hit the insides of Loki's thighs, under his arms, his genitals, the soles of his feet. Then, excited by his own sadism and Loki's tears, the captain raped him again, the sting of his seed mingling with blood, burning pain in Loki’s open cuts.

If Loki could have screamed, he would have. He would have screamed until the entire ship rang with it. He could not close his eyes. Any moment of darkness and he was back in that realm of dust and floating rock and pain, a deep voice encouraging him, a huge hand on his forehead, a parody of comfort as his flesh was rendered from his bones.

At least here, the captain cared nothing for persuasion. He did not try to make Loki believe that he cared for him, that he was trying to help, that he was trying to teach. No, the captain had no such subtlety. He kept Loki paralyzed and did as he wanted to his defenseless body. Loki kept his eyes open, staring in whatever direction his head was turned, trying not to think. Trying not to feel.

When the captain was done with him, he dragged him outside his cabin door and left him there in the passageway, naked and bleeding and used.

***

The rest of the guards found him the next morning, lying helplessly where he had been dumped. They excitedly took him to the guardroom, washed him off with cold water and spread him out on a smooth table that was bolted to the floor.

They were less sadistic, but there was more of them. By the time the last of them was done, the first one was ready to go again. Loki wished for the blessing of unconsciousness before they were even halfway through. His wish was not granted, and every one of them had him at least twice before a buzzer sounded and they had to go on shift. They left the guardroom grumbling, promising Loki that they would be back.

There was nothing he could do. They had left him paralyzed, able to blink and little else, laying in a sticky mixture of blood and semen. He breathed and tried to will himself to pass out. Not to feel his bruised flesh, the open wounds from the captain’s whip, the burning, tearing pain between his legs. He could heal quickly, like all of his kind, but not if he was continually abused. Not if they came back for him too soon.

There were footsteps in the passageway, but not the thumping boots of the guards. This was someone else. Loki tried to brace himself, but pain was nothing he had ever learned to tolerate. It never hurt any less, no matter how ready he thought he was. He had been left facing away from the door, so he couldn’t see who paused at the entrance and entered with hesitant steps.

A gentle hand turned his head, and a gasp huffed out of Loki’s lips at the sight that greeted him. It was the tally-counter, recognizable by the pale-blue eyes that Loki saw through the metal slot every day.

“I can’t help you.” The voice was soft, and Loki’s eyes widened when he realized that the tally-counter was female. Hidden behind the metal grating, only ever conversing in an undertone, hands always covered by heavy gloves, Loki had thought her male. But her face was rounded, her hands elegant. She tipped his head up and held a cup to his lips, sending a trickle of cool water down his throat. “I can’t help any of you,” she said, despairing. “I can’t even help myself.”

She sighed and shook her head, knowing that Loki could not reply. She held a small bottle of clear liquid before his eyes, “It’s extract of panarseed," she said, "blink twice if you want it.”

Loki blinked twice. He didn’t know what panarseed was, and he didn’t care. He just wanted the pain to stop. The tally-counter held his mouth open and let three numbing drops fall on his tongue. She turned his head back exactly as it had been and said, “They won’t kill you. I don’t know if that makes it better or worse, but they won’t.”

The bulkhead swam in front of Loki’s eyes as the drug started to work. He didn’t even hear her leave. All he felt was the warm, soft blanket of unconsciousness falling over him.

***

He woke up back in the captain’s cabin, sprawled on the floor, alone. He was still paralyzed, his voice came out as a thin, desperate moan as he tried to move and couldn't. He had been raped again while he was unconscious, he could tell by the pain, and by the slick wetness on his thighs.

His bruises throbbed, the cuts of the whip stung, his body ached from the twisted position he was laying in. He could do nothing but be with his pain, and it took him endless minutes even to control his panicked breathing. He stared at the bulkhead, his eyes blank, for minutes or even hours, he couldn’t tell. He was hovering above himself, observing his own pain, witness to his own degradation. A part of him knew that he was dissociating, that he should try and come back, try to observe his surroundings, learn what he could from the guard captain’s cabin. Another part of him wanted to cut the cord anchoring him to his body and float away. Find that bottle of panarseed and drink it all, sink into nothingness.

A boot in his belly brought him back. The captain was back, looking down at him, his eyes cold. Loki stared up at him, knowing that there was no mercy there. For some reason that triggered the realization that Loki had left Min alone on the deck. She had no one to pay her protection. Frantically, he tried to calculate how long he had been gone. It must have been a full day if the captain was back from his shift. The deck must be in lock-down already, and Min’s protection had not been paid. Would Getar even think Loki was coming back? Perhaps he would take care of Min for one more day, even without payment. There was nothing Loki could do except curse himself for not asking Stark to pay for her. Not that he had any reason to, but if Loki had asked he might have done it as an investment in their new-found alliance.

The captain evidently did not like Loki's distracted expression. He shoved his dirty boot next to Loki’s face, stepping on his tangled hair. “Lick it,” he said, delight clear on his face as he and Loki both knew that he couldn’t. He kicked Loki’s cheek, a sharp tap, not too hard, and repeated the order. Loki closed his eyes, then opened them again. He couldn’t stand the darkness. Another kick, harder, and Loki heard something crunch. It felt like a tooth, and blood filled his mouth. All he could do was lie there and take it. He would comply if he could. He didn’t care about dignity, not anymore. He knew all too well how little dignity served him.

Loki’s lack of reaction must have made the game too dull, because the captain pulled out the control panel and made an adjustment. A buzz ran down Loki's spine, making his vision blur out for a moment, his ears ringing with white noise.

“Answer me,” the captain said, and Loki wracked his brain for what question he had been asked. A moment later, he realized that he could talk. He strained his body, trying to move, to protect himself, but all he would do was twitch his fingers a little.

“Answer me!” the captain screamed at him, his face reddening in his unconstrained excitement at his own power.

Loki forced himself to reply. “I don’t know,” he said in a hoarse whisper, which was nothing but the truth. That earned him another kick in the face, his cheekbone taking the blow that time, already tender and swollen.

“Answer me!”

Loki felt a tear roll down his face. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words coming unbidden, “I’m sorry.”

The man looked down on him with disgust. He flipped Loki on his belly with the toe of his boot, and got the whip again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may be the whumpiest thing I have ever written - what do you think? Too much? Not enough?


	9. Center

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends, I have had a shitty week! My husband was in the hospital for five days, so some of this chapter was written in a very uncomfortable hospital room. He's doing better now, but it was a rough week. I missed you guys!

It must be the third day, Loki thought blurrily to himself. The guards had gone on shift three times, and the tally-counter had come three times, giving him water and drugging him into unconsciousness. He tried to focus on the passage of time. Something outside of himself. How many days he had been gone from the deck. How many days Min had been without his protection. How much longer this punishment might last.

He was on the table in the guard room, waiting for the guards to return. The panarseed was already wearing off. His body had developed resistance to it even after this short time. His ability to heal went hand-in-hand with his ability to rapidly develop immunity to poisons, venoms, and drugs. He needed the healing more than he needed the drugs, so he did not begrudge it. As fast as his healing was, the respite of the guards’ shift gave his body barely enough time. The most grievous injuries were healed, others that were painful but not a threat to his health hardly changed. Even so, Loki knew that as soon as the captain and the guards got their hands on him again, his injuries would be reopened, and the cycle would begin again.

For whatever comfort it gave him, Loki knew that Stark would have died on this table. He told himself that he had done the right thing to take his place. The human's body could not heal fast enough. He was susceptible to infection and blood loss, the device in his chest would have been yanked out, examined, not returned. If Loki had not acted, Stark would be dead, and with his death Loki’s new spark of hope would have died too. He clung to the knowledge that his split-second decision to take the human's punishment was worth something. That his suffering had meaning.

There was no anger in his heart for Stark, despite his impulsive and foolish action of stealing the broken-off piece of metal. It was action that Loki needed. He had planned and schemed for too long, he realized that now. It was time for action, but not on Stark's terms. If Loki ever got back to the deck, he would bring Stark to his heel. He would not go through this torture again, so he would make sure that Stark did not do anything without his approval.

He drifted for a while, the panarseed fading away. Loki kept his eyes open and let his thoughts float away as his pain grew. Soon, there was no space in his mind for anything but to remember to breathe and not let the pain consume him.

It would not be long until his torturers returned. The captain would have him first, and Loki tried not to think about what he would do. The whip, probably. The day before, Loki had spent hours on his back on the floor, legs bent and spread, unable to move as the captain practiced his technique. Forehand and backhand, left and right, targeting the tender flesh of his thighs, his belly, his genitals, encouraging him to scream and cry and beg. Even the guards had not wanted to look at the resulting mess of broken skin, welts and blood. They had wrinkled their noses and put him face down on the table when it was their turn for sport.

The shift-change buzzer jerked Loki awake, but it was followed by a high-pitched chime. A clear, vibrating sound that Loki had not heard before on the ship. The chime hung in the air, seeming to echo through the metal of the ship.

Footsteps came down the passageway, more than one person. It was the familiar heavy tread of the guards. Soon their low muttering could be heard, complaining among themselves, discontented with their lot, as usual. Loki tried to focus, to hear what they were saying, to glean some scrap of knowledge that may be useful. They paused at the entrance to the guardroom. The captain was talking:

“...gotta go back. You heard it, orders from the Center, so don’t bother complaining to me.”

More muttering that Loki could not make out, then the Captain’s harsh tone again. “You morons can do what you want down here, but the Center doesn’t give a shit about you, they’ll have an implant in you the moment you go against them. So shut up and send him back. Be quick about it.”

Loki’s heart beat faster. They were sending him back! His punishment was over. He forced himself to focus as they came into the guard-room. Their presence filled the space with a negative energy that Loki could feel pressing against his skin. Their cruelty, their lust, their indifference to his pain, all of it was a psychic weight that they carried around, that Loki could feel. The captain was the worst. His sadistic pleasure in Loki's pain was a part of his soul that was severed, the wound hurting those around him, instead of the man himself.

A harsh slap on his abused ass brought him back to the present. “Get up,” the captain ordered, and Loki was about to protest that he couldn’t when there was a buzzing crunch in his spine and his limbs jerked, out of his control. He twitched his fingers, then his hands and feet. The strangest feeling, a reverse tingle, flowed through him, from his extremities inwards.

He could move again. The paralysis was gone.

He tried to lift himself off the table, but the dried blood and other bodily fluids ripped away from his wounded flesh, making his vision blur and and his breath stop.

Another slap. “Get this filthy creature out of here,” the captain ordered, as though he was not the one responsible for Loki’s current state. Two guards grabbed him and yanked him off the table. Pain washed through him, his every injury on fire as he moved and pulled at his wounds. “Stand up,” a voice ordered, but Loki didn’t even see who said it. He was too busy trying to breathe.

He was grabbed under his arms and straightened up. He finally got his feet under him, unsteady. He hadn’t walked in three days. The soles of his feet still were painful from the first day of the captain’s whip, but he tried to stand.

The chime sounded again, and the guards all stilled as the captain glanced at his control device.

“Clean him up first,” the captain said shortly. He looked Loki up and down with a sneer. Loki looked back. He did not lower his eyes, understanding once again that the guard captain and his unit were only a few rungs higher on the ladder of this ship than the slaves. Someone was giving the guard captain orders, and he was jumping to obey them.

The captain rewarded him for his insolence with a fist in his belly. Loki went down, not from the force of the punch but from the mess of welts and cuts covering his skin there, previous gifts from the captain. The guards let him fall, then pulled him back to his feet, dragging him off down the passageway before he could regain his balance.

They shoved him in a shower room and turned the water on, freezing cold, but if they thought to punish him further they made a mistake. The water scoured his injuries, but the icy cold broke through the last vestiges of his vaguely dissociated state and pushed him out the other side. He was going back to the deck. He was going back, and he refused to do so with the guard’s seed still on him. He forced himself up off the floor and used his hands to rub at his skin, encouraging the water to cleanse him, uncaring of the cold. The chill water actually helped the pain, cooling and numbing his injuries, soothing his angry welts. He staggered to his feet, the guards watching him, nervous. One had the control panel in his hand, his thumb hovering. Loki looked at him, memorizing his face. Then he did the same to the rest, committing them to his memory. The captain too was in his memory, from their first encounter.

Somehow the balance had shifted. The guards all seemed afraid to touch him now that the chime had sounded and his punishment was over. His return to the deck had been ordered by the Center, whoever or whatever that was, and the guards feared the Center.

Loki folded his arms, naked and wet before the five of them in their uniforms, boots and weapons on their belts. “Clothes,” he demanded, his voice hoarse from screaming. The guards all looked at each other, unsure what to do. Loki waited. They wanted to get rid of him, and he would make sure that the quickest way to be rid of him was to give him what he wanted.

Loki didn’t move, and a moment later a guard with a flattened nose rushed off. He returned in a few moments with black pants and a black shirt, the same colors that guards wore. The clothes were most likely from the guards stores, and Loki kept his smirk off his face as he put them on. No shoes, but he would deal with that later.

“Let’s go,” he said when he was dressed, and they jumped as though he had any right to be giving them orders. He memorized the turns of the passageways back to the airlock, and the sequence of buttons to open it. The chime sounded again as he entered the airlock, lingering longer in the air and seeming louder too. The flat-nosed guard could not close the heavy door fast enough, his hand shaking as he punched the activation sequence.

Loki took a breath. He pushed down the pain of his injuries, ignored it. His new clothes were rubbing, irritating his skin, the cuts of the whip, the welts, the split and bruised flesh in his most tender areas. Despite that, it was far, far better to face the deck dressed, than to face them naked. The increased pain was a price worth paying for that. He stood up straight. As straight as he could, anyway.

He had little idea what he would find out there.

Was Min unharmed? He did not know how that could be, and he was bracing himself for her to spurn him for his betrayal. He had chosen to protect Stark over protecting her. She would be right to reject him, after that. Still, he would be avenged on anyone who had laid hands on her. That still was his duty, and he would see it done. He most likely had been replaced as cell-boss, perhaps even his place in the cell had been traded. He could be anywhere now. In any cell, separated from both Min and from Stark. He would have to build up again. Restart the painstaking work of gaining respect from the other prisoners, of getting enough influence to be able to see to his responsibilities.

The heavy airlock door hissed and opened. Loki took a deep breath, calmed his spiraling thoughts, and stepped out onto the deck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Dramatic pause* Duh duh duh!


	10. Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your kind thoughts for my husband, it is greatly appreciated. He is doing much better and hopefully on the right path for recovery. 
> 
> And speaking of recovery...let's see how Loki is doing!

When Loki walked out of the airlock, the prisoners were all headed to their cells. The lock-down buzzer must have sounded only moments ago. The sound of the airlock opening and closing caught the attention of those nearest, and a slow hush spread over the deck, casual chatter ceasing as his return was noticed.

Loki stood by the door for a moment, getting his bearings, searching the crowd for Min and letting the eyes of the watching prisoners take him in. He had returned, alive, and as much as he could manage to fake it, well.

The wave of whispers and quiet reached the middle of the deck, where his cell and Getar’s cell were on opposite sides. Min rushed out of her cell, her face a mix of hope and disbelief. The tension Loki's chest relaxed a little when he saw her. She was still in Getar’s cell, at least. He had not traded her, despite his frequent and unsubtle reminders of the offers he got for her.

Loki half expected the girl to run to him, looking for comfort. It would be awkward, but he would understand why she might react in such a way. Instead a fierce smile grew on her face, and she planted her feet right where she was and raised her fist in the air. It was a joyful mirror of the despairing salute she had given when he was taken. This time, she had a green cloth tied around her wrist, the bandana that Loki had left behind. She was Asgardian, and the girl knew how to greet her prince with dignity and respect.

A murmur spread through the deck, and Stark walked out to stand beside her, a red bandana around his wrist, his fist in the air next to hers.

Loki saluted them back, swallowing hard, his eyes watering. He took a cautious step, pain rippling through him as he moved, his bare feet shuffling on the hard metal deck. The prisoners were silent, all of them out of their cells, lining the walls, watching.

Jranios and Jaravbor were the next to raise their fists. Their pink and peach bandanas joining the green and red, the only color in that place, raised in defiant salute. The others of Loki’s cell followed suit, then Getar appeared next to Min, fist raised. To Loki’s well hidden surprise, Darronu took Getar's other side and raised his fist as well. From there, it took but a moment for all the prisoners to do the same. Every one of them stood aside and saluted Loki as he limped past. He was one of them, and he had returned. They all got a good look at his bruised face, the stray lash marks on his arms that the short sleeves of his black tunic did not hide. His slow, painful steps told the rest of the tale well enough for all of them to understand.

Loki's heart was about to burst. Never had he received such a gesture of respect, even when he was a prince. On Asgard, he was given the regard that a prince was due as a member of the royal family, as a representative of their traditions. Not like this. This breathless silence, fists raised in salute, not because of who he was, but because of what he had done. Because he had earned it.

He reached Min, and she looked him over, his bruises, his new clothes, the emotion on his face that he could not hide. She pressed his bandana back into his hand, but he could not take it from her.

“You are well, girl?” he asked, re-tying the green cloth around her wrist with trembling fingers. She nodded, gulping for air.

“Yes Loki,” she said, suppressing her emotions through formality, “I am well. And you?”

Well aware that the entire deck was listening to their exchange, Loki shrugged, then winced as the motion pulled at his injuries. “I am well enough, Min.”

She smiled at him, her teeth bright white against her dark skin, her brown eyes shining in the harsh overhead light of the ship. She put her small hand on his arm, daring indeed for a page to a prince, and squeezed as hard as she could, as though checking that he was real. “I am very glad to see you, Loki," she said. A tear spilled over her cheek, her smile on the brink of collapsing into helpless sobs. She was brave, but still she was so young. Loki squeezed her arm, and was searching for some comforting words when they were interrupted by the harsh sound of the buzzer, twice in a row.

It was past lock-down, but as every single prisoner was out of their cell, whoever was monitoring the deck must have decided not to put up the energy fields and depressurize. That was useful to know. The process was not fully automated, or they would all be floating in space in a few short minutes.

Loki nodded his farewell to Min, and the watching prisoners disbursed back to their cells for the night. The heightened emotion of the deck drained away as quickly as it had arrived. Loki’s cell waited for him. They let him lead, Stark at his side ready to support him if he needed it.

The moment the last of them was inside the energy barrier snapped into place and the long hiss of depressurization began. Loki limped to the metal bunk at the back, his habitual spot. He was beginning to think that no one had replaced him as cell-boss.

He sat down, unable to stop himself from supporting his weight on his hands and leaning back, to avoid putting too much pressure on tender areas. He had little doubt that those watching would know why he did that. He tried to ignore the pain, and worse, the humiliation of everyone here knowing what had been done to him. He would heal overnight, and without the guards to inflict the same damage on him over and over, it would be nothing but a memory soon enough.

He startled as the ceiling delivery tube opened and their evening food and water fell through, hitting the ground with dull thuds. It was as though he had never left, and a sense of repetition came over him, of being back where he belonged. He pushed that away. He didn't belong here. None of them did.

Stark grabbed a can of food and one of water and handed them to Loki, then they all waited. Loki stared blankly at them for a moment before he remembered that he had trained them to wait for his permission to take their food. He nodded, a lump in his throat, and they all grabbed their rations. Everyone got food, Loki noted, so they must have been keeping their tally up even without him.

Loki set the food aside and opened the water, draining it in one long swallow. He was so thirsty. The tally-counter had given him water, but only once a day, and only as much as he could drink in the few minutes she spent with him, looking over her shoulder the entire time. Loki was ravenously hungry too, but he knew enough to wait a while before he tried to eat. His stomach needed to absorb the water first, or he would be bringing it all back up shortly after eating it.

Stark leaned towards him, something in his hand. Loki flinched away before he realized Stark was offering him his own water, still half full. Loki took a breath. He looked up at Stark. The human's eyes were dark pools, his face lined and anxious. He offered the water again and Loki took it, drained it and gave him back the empty can.

Half a can of water wasn't much, but he would take it. It was the least Stark owed him.


	11. Penance

Loki didn’t offer any information, despite the nakedly curious looks of his cellmates. None of them dared to question him and soon enough their tiredness overcame their patience. They settled down to sleep, arranged on the floor as usual. Only Stark remained awake, sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, waiting, tapping his fingers on his thigh. Loki was in no mood to sleep, but he did his best to find a comfortable position and rest his body as much as he could. When the regular breathing of their cell-mates surrounded them, he pushed himself upright again and beckoned Stark to join him on the bench.

“Hey,” Stark began as soon as he sat down, his leg bouncing in place, his fingers drumming on the bench, nervous energy pouring off of him. “Thanks for what you did. I..um...I didn’t expect you to do that. I acted without thinking, and you...um...you saved me. You didn’t have to do that. I know you had a rough time, and that was my fault, and I’m really, really sorry.”

Loki silenced him with a look. He had little use for the man’s thanks or his apologies. Stark's obvious guilt over Loki's punishment was going to be useful though, because Loki planned to demand a significant penance from him.

“I  _ did  _ have to do it, Stark, because I need you alive.” His voice was still hoarse, and he didn’t bother hiding it. He had eaten a few bites of the sticky gruel but that had been all he could force down past his sore, abraded throat. He coughed, not even having to fake it. His body healed the most serious injuries first, leaving his sore throat, the damage from the whip, and the bruises on his face for last. They were all painful and ugly, but not dangerous.

Stark swallowed, "You should have let them take me. It was my fault."

Loki pushed away his pride. He had a purpose now. He was going to get out of this place, and he had to have Stark by his side for that. Trying not to flinch, he eased his shirt off over his head. Dried blood pulled at scabbed flesh, and a dozen welts reopened and began to ooze blood. He raised his arms, letting Stark see the bloody cuts and welts under his arms and on his belly. The lashes on his belly continued down under his pants, and Loki pulled down the waistband to make sure Stark realized that.

Loki was not one to flaunt his wounds, not as some did, showing them off in pride. Not wounds like this, anyway. These were not taken in honorable battle, but inflicted on his helpless body while he cried and begged for mercy. This was his lot in life. Torture and shame. He clenched his jaw on those memories, and let Stark stare at him.

Stark looked away, pale. The man's guilt made him easier to manipulate, but Loki needed to make sure. He forced himself to speak. Stark would know the fate that Loki had saved him from. Loki kept his voice low, the words sticking in his throat. “I could not let them take you. They would have raped you to death on the first day. If not that, they would have whipped the flesh from your body, genitals first. Do you understand me?”

Stark leaned forward, his forehead on his knees, his arms wrapped around his head, taking long, deep breaths. He held up his hand, and Loki waited while he calmed himself down enough to be able speak.

His voice was breaking when he sat up again and faced Loki again, his face wet with tears and guilt. "I'm sorry. Loki, I'm sorry that they did that to you. That's my fault. That's on me. I should never had taken that damn piece of metal! I'll make it up to you. I will. I don't know how yet, but I'll find a way. You can have my food. You can have my shoes!” He pulled the standard issue prison shoes off his feet, soft, shapeless slippers, and thrust them at Loki.

Loki fixed Stark with a steely eye. His trap was almost sprung, and Stark had practically thrown himself into it. “I do not need your apologies. But I will take your shoes. And there is something else you can give me." He waited for Stark's eager nod before he continued. "I will have your word that you will not act without my permission. You will do nothing. You will obey me, you will do what I say and nothing more. I will not suffer that torture again.”

Stark hesitated, his brow furrowed, not fully understanding what Loki wanted from him. “OK,” he said, “I won't do anything without talking to you first. I've learned my lesson on that, I swear!”

Loki shook his head, “No, I will have your word on it. Your obedience. Do you not think I have earned it? If not for me they would have dumped your body out of the nearest airlock days ago.”

Stark scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair. He looked sick, pale and sweaty, his eyes darted to Loki's wounds and away, over and over again.

“Did the tally-counter come?” he asked, a sudden change of subject, “Did I even get that right? I gave her everything extra we had, after I paid Getar and Darronu.”

“Yes,” Loki replied, understanding finally why the woman had helped him. “Yes, she came. You paid her?”

“Of course!” Stark said, holding his head in his hands again, “Of course I did! I didn’t know what else to do! She said she couldn’t help, but I told her there was no one else. I begged her. She took my tokens, but she never told me anything.”

Loki huffed. “She did not tell me anything either,” he said, “but she gave me water, and drugged me enough to rest for a few hours everyday.”

Stark leaned back, relieved. “OK good. I mean, not good overall, but better than nothing, I guess. I didn't fuck that up too. What else? Getar and Darronu are a team now. I told them our ore-processing method in exchange for a discount on Min’s protection. We’re down to one token to them. I also told them if anything happened to her that you would personally cut their balls off. So...keep that in mind.”

Loki swayed, his every pain making itself felt. He would not be able to sit like this much longer. He needed to get Stark's oath from him before the next morning, when his injuries would be healed and he could no longer influence the man with his physical state. As urgent as his task was, he was diverted by Stark's update. The mental image of this mortal, smaller than both Getar and Darronu by at least ten inches, threatening the two of them with castration, was an amusing one.

"Did they believe you?" he asked with small smile.

“You know, I kinda think they did,” Stark said, “I knew you would be back, and I guess I convinced them. Enough to make them think twice, anyway. They know that kid is the only person in here you give a shit about."

Loki nodded. Stark was right about that. He had a duty to Min that superseded all else. The girl had given her oath to Loki's house, and in exchange she deserved his protection. That was the bargain, loyalty and obedience in exchange for safety. The same bargain that Loki wanted from Stark.

“Stark,” he said, “We will be leaving here, I know that to be true. I need you by my side. You are clever, you are resourceful, you are determined. But you are also rash, and you would be dead already if not for me. This is not Midgard. Whatever rules exist there for the treatment of prisoners will not serve you here. I will protect you, but in exchange I will have your obedience. Your word on it, Stark. That is my price.”

Stark chewed on his thumbnail. “If I don’t?” he said.

Loki’s heart sank, but he did not show the bitterness of his disappointment. He shrugged, “I will find a good cell for you,” he said, “You will do well enough, I am sure. I will not go against you, as long as you will do me the same courtesy.”

Stark shook his head, “No,” he said, “No, we need to stick together. We both were taken from Tornatt in the last few months. We both have some very smart and determined people looking for us. We have to work together, it's the only way.”

“Those are my terms.” Loki said. He could not risk anything else. He protected Min, but the only one to protect Loki, was Loki. He needed Stark, but not without some assurance that his recklessness would not get them both killed.

Stark thought it over. "So it's your way or the highway, huh?" Loki nodded. He was not familiar with the expression, but he understood it well enough.

Stark's eyes flickered over Loki's injuries again, and he nodded. “OK, fine. Until we get back to Earth, I’ll do what you say. As long as it’s not anything stupid.”

Loki pressed his lips together. He willed himself to patience, and tried to ignore the growing aches and pains of his injuries. He needed to rest and allow himself time to recover, but he was close, so close, and he could not end the night without trying again. “Stark, an oath with such a caveat is not a oath worth having. If you wish for my alliance and my protection, you will give me what I want. Or you will be on your own.”

Stark hesitated, but there was nowhere else for him to go. Loki needed him, but Stark needed Loki, and faced with the damage on Loki's body, that would have been his end without Loki's protection, he gave in. "OK", he said, defeated, “OK fine. I’ll obey you until we get back to earth.”

Before he could change his mind, Loki learned forward and grasped the man’s wrist. He had no magic to seal such an oath, and he had no idea how seriously such things were taken on Midgard, but this was the most he was going to get.

“I accept your oath, Stark” Loki said, willing it to be sealed. He looked into Stark’s eyes, golden brown, gleaming with the reflected light of the heavens beyond the open airlock.

“Call me Tony,” the mortal said, returning his grip. Loki felt a tingle under his palm where their skin touched.

“I accept your oath, Tony,” Loki repeated back. As the words left his lips, there was a spark from under the mortal’s shirt. A bright flash of light crossed their palms, leaving a stinging sensation in its wake.

“What was that?” they both said at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh.


	12. Oath

“I do not know…” Loki said slowly, although in truth he had a very good idea. He had sealed oaths with magic many times, but always with his own. Whenever he had done so with someone who rarely felt the power of arcane energy, they always reacted as he had done, as though stung. But Stark was no mage. Midgard was almost devoid of arcane energy, and those few who could access it guarded their secrets closely in ancient, hidden schools.

But something had passed between them, and there was one way to test what it had been. “Put your hands on your head,” Loki ordered, and Stark glared at him impatiently.

“This isn’t the time for games, Loki,” he said, “Did you do…” he paused, leaned forward and rubbed his chest where the device was implanted. He took a deep breath. “Did you do something to me…” He gasped, clutched at his chest, fingers circling the metal of the device through his shirt. “What’s that..” The color left his face, and he groaned in pain.

“Put your hands on your head!” Loki snapped, “Do it now!”

Loki was not playing, and Stark, seeing that he was serious, did it. Immediately the lines of pain left his face, replaced seconds later by anger.

“What did you do?” he hissed, “Did you put a spell on me?”

Loki leaned back, took some of his weight onto his hands, trying to get more comfortable, and also buying time for his brain to churn back over the conversation, the exact words that were spoken as the oath was made. “I assure you I did not, Sta...Tony. If I had enough magic to seal an oath, I would have enough to summon aid. No, I did not put a spell on you. This was not my doing. It was you. Your energy device sealed the oath.”

Tony crossed his arms defensively. "That's BS," he said. He tapped the device. "This is pure science. No voodoo, no mumbo-jumbo, no ability to  _ seal an oath, _ whatever the hell that means! You did something!"

Loki shook his head. "You gave me your oath, Tony. If you intend to keep it, why should it concern you that it is magically sealed? If you obey, as you have sworn, you will not feel any effects from the seal at all."

They glared at each other, but Loki was right. Tony had given his word, and as long as he kept it, the seal would do nothing.

“More importantly,” Loki said, excitement rising in his chest, “Is that we have access to a source of potential energy. May I?” He reached out with his fingertips, waiting for permission to brush the device. At Stark’s reluctant nod, Loki rested his fingers against the warm metal through the prison-issue shirt. He felt nothing. No hum of arcane energy, no thrill of connection to greater powers, only Stark's pulse, racing under his fingertips, and the smooth surface of the device. He frowned, tugged Stark’s too-big shirt down to allow him to touch it directly. He tried again to reach out with his mind, ignoring Stark’s discomforted squirming.

Still nothing. He could feel the warmth of the device and see the blue glow, but he could sense nothing with his arcane senses. He must be missing something, some way that the energy had been activated.

“How are you connected to this device, Tony?” He asked, sitting back on his hands again, his body screaming at him to rest, to heal. He forced himself to focus. This was important. It could be the key to their escape.

Stark glared at him, arms crossed on his chest, distrust clear in his eyes. Loki waiting, interested to see if the man would be forced to answer, but he did not seem to experience any discomfort. Perhaps it was because Loki had not phrased the question as an order. He could simply tell Stark to respond, but as enjoyable at it would be to have some power back in his hands, he needed Stark to trust him, so he abandoned that idea almost as soon as he thought of it.

“It powers an electromagnet,” Tony finally said, “which is inside my chest. The housing is fused to my ribcage, but the arc reactor isn’t connected to me internally.”

“How do you control it?”

“It’s self regulating. It controls its own energy output, temperature, decay rate, everything. There’s no on/off button. It’s a highly advanced piece of technology. If I needed to change anything I would use one of the backups, make the modifications in my workshop and replace it.”

Loki considered. Stark must have accessed the energy of the device somehow, because there was no doubt that the oath had been sealed and Loki had not done it himself. Stark was staring at him, waiting for answers, but Loki had none to give. He shook his head, trying to clear it.

“We should sleep,” he said, glancing out of the airlock, trying to gauge the passage of time from the movement of the stars. "We can try again tomorrow."

Stark hesitated, then asked, “You’re not going to use this oath to fuck with me, are you?"

Loki lay down on the bench, finally allowing his body to rest, already feeling the relief of it flood through him. “Whatever do you mean, Tony?” he replied, as innocently as he could manage.

Stark clenched his jaw. “You know what I mean. Mess with me. Make me do stupid things.”

Loki smiled, his eyes already closing, the healing depths of sleep calling to him. “Oh, you don’t need me for that, do you Tony? You can do stupid things all by yourself.”

Loki ignored the man's frustrated grumble and let himself drift into sleep. He would heal, and his pain would fade away overnight. He had Stark's oath of obedience, sealed by magic, and he had a potential energy source. That was not bad payment for the three days of suffering he had endured. He would put his ordeal behind him, forget it had happened. No good came of looking back. He would look to the future, find a way out of this prison and return to Asgard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends, if any of you are into audiobooks, I have some codes for a free copy of my book "Prince for Sale" which is a conversion of "Tony's Thrall". It's totally free to you, and I would love to share my work with you all - the narrator did a really nice job of the performance, it's a fun listen. Email me at carolinegibsonauthor@gmail.com if you want a code. It helps me to give them away, if you download it makes my book seem more popular :)
> 
> Oh the codes are good for UK and USA - please tell me where you are when you email. If you're not in either of those two countries, I don't think it would work but you are welcome to try :)


	13. Rumors

Loki jerked awake well before the lights came up. He was breathing hard, his skin sweaty, his muscles flooded with adrenaline, ready to fight. He blinked, frozen in place, trying to make sense of his situation before he realized he had been dreaming. He let himself relax. It was just a dream. He didn’t even remember it. Nothing but a memory, a feeling of helplessness, of weakness. A feeling of knowing that no matter what he tried, no matter what he did, he would be found wanting, and he would be punished.

He took a deep breath. His punishment was over. It was done, and he didn’t need to think about it anymore. He let it drift away with his exhaled breath, over and over, until he drifted with it and was able to close his eyes again.

***

The next morning, Loki gave Stark’s shoes back when they reached the processing line. The ground was littered with sharp fragments of stone and shards of toxic chemical ore. Stark’s feet would be torn apart in no more than a few minutes, while Loki was able to tolerate it with only mild discomfort. He took his usual place at the head of the line, opposite Stark. His team all had their bandanas tied over their faces, but Loki had left his with Min, so he had none. That, and his black clothes and bare feet marked him out from the others in their dull grey.

The line started up with a dull rumble, and their long workday began. Loki was shocked at how efficient they were now. They all knew their tasks, and they had stowed rough tools under the conveyor to make their work even easier. A heavy bolt was used to break up obstinate chunks of rubble and ore. Two flat sheets of metal were used to scoop the smallest pieces of ore into the bins. They rotated the tasks too. Twice an hour, each person moved down the line to take the next job, and the two on the end ran up to the head, keeping everyone moving. No one had to do the worst job, scooping the small powdery ore at the end of the line, for very long.

Loki followed the established routine. This was all Stark’s doing. He had made this group into a team. They all worked together, all supported each other. Loki had made them obey, he had kept them in line and in fear of him, but he had not brought them together like this. Loki did not know what to make of it. This was not the Asgardian way, for the team to all share the best and worst jobs. It must be the Midgardian way. Or perhaps just Stark’s way, Loki did not know enough about Midgard to know.

At the end of the day, they had twelve extra tokens, and they had not even needed to work themselves into exhaustion.

Loki sought out Getar first. He slipped a token into his palm, then leaned on the bulkhead next to him for a casual conversation. Getar shifted his feet, moving minutely away from where Loki stood, his eyes searching the crowd, restless.

“Your girl is good,” he blurted out, “She’s good, I never let anyone touch her. She’ll tell you.”

Loki nodded, wondering if this new-found nervousness was a result of Stark’s threats. “She had better tell me that, my friend,” he said, “You and I will discuss it if she doesn’t.”

Getar swallowed. “She will!” he said, and then after a pause, “Is it true? I heard they gave you that uniform because they couldn’t break you, in the end. The guards.”

Ahh, so that was it. The rumors were running. Rumors like that could serve him well, and there was no point denying it. People will believe that they want to believe. It may even be true. He had demanded clothes, and the guards had obeyed him.

He shrugged. “Perhaps,” he said, as though it was of no consequence. “Tell me. What do you know of the Center?”

Getar frowned, “The Center?” he asked, “Never heard of it. What is it?”

“I am not sure. Put the word out, ask around. See who knows anything.”

“Yes, Loki,” Getar replied, surprised to find himself working for Loki, but seemingly unable to refuse. Loki nodded and pushed himself up off the bulkhead. His injuries were healed, but his bones still ached, especially after a long day standing. He forced himself to keep moving. The tally-counter was next, and he was already late.

He approached the line, his step faltering a little despite himself. He was tired, that was all. The woman at the back of the line, Loki thought her name was Ulla, noticed him and nudged the man ahead of her. They both stepped aside and let him go ahead, then the same happened with Darronu, who was next. He pulled the two others ahead of him aside, and Loki was at the head of the line. He tried to keep the puzzlement off his face and approached the familiar pale blue eyes behind the metal grill.

The tally-counter slowly counted out his tokens, giving no sign that she recognized him. Loki did the same. He did not know who watched her. Petty corruption was probably fine in her role, taking extra tokens for trifles, but helping him during his punishment was likely not so well tolerated. He did not want to cause her any trouble, after the risk she had taken to help him.

“I need shoes,” he said in an undertone, “And an extra bandana. Green if you have it.”

She tapped three fingers on the counter and Loki slid three tokens over to her, slipping them under her palm. Seven left. He thought hard. His team had been without any bonuses for the past three days. Stark had given all their extra tokens to the tally-counter, paying for Loki’s water and drugs. The cell deserved something. He leaned closer, whispered his request, flipping his hand up to show the seven remaining tokens. Wordlessly, she took them, not confirming or denying that she could get what Loki asked for.

He left the counter, nodding at those that had stepped aside for him, and went in search of Stark. The human had some explaining to do.

Stark was with Min, sitting on the metal floor, backs to the bulkhead, watching him approach as though they were waiting for him. “Move,” he said to Stark, and pointed to a spot on the floor in front of Min. Stark frowned but moved over. Loki took his spot, his back to the bulkhead, a clear view out over the rest of the deck.

“You are well, girl?” Loki checked with Min first.

She nodded, “Yes Loki, thank you. I am well. And you?”

Loki smiled at her, noting the green bandana still tied proudly around her wrist. “I am well,” he said, “Tony has taken care of you, while I was gone?”

Min nodded again, “Yes Loki! He gave me your scarf, and told everyone that you would return. He told them that you led an army to his world and even Thor himself needed aid to stop you. He said that you wielded two of the stones of creation, that you commanded the forces of the void, that you fell through an arcane gateway in space and survived!”

“Hmm,” he said, letting Stark squirm a little as he considered what to do with that revelation. The girl’s retelling was somewhat jumbled, but Loki supposed it was all pretty well true. It did explain the nervous respect of the prisoners, and if nothing else, Loki hated to wait in line.

Stark gave him a look half-way between apologetic and defensive, and Loki let it go. Whatever Stark had done, the result had been to keep Min safe, to preserve Loki’s role, increase his reputation and send much-needed aid while he was being tortured. He would not complain about his methods, when his results had been so good.

He crossed his legs and leaned back against the bulkhead, enjoying the sensation of an uninjured body. Min was safe by side, and his newly sworn ally seemed amenable enough to taking his orders, at least for now.

Stark waited a moment, then seeing Loki was not going to say anything further, he picked up his conversation with Min. It took Loki a few moments to realize that they were talking about the girl’s pet dogs, which somehow Stark knew by name.

“...Rign is the oldest,” the girl explained, her eyes alight, her hand hovering in the air to show the sizes of her dogs as she talked. “He has a bad leg but he will still chase a  _ kanina _ through a field! Solskin is only a puppy still, she loves to chase too but she is too clumsy to catch anything…”

They chatted, and Min said more words than Loki had even heard her utter before. A glow came back to her face, a smile shone on her lips, and Stark listened as though he had never heard anything so interesting. He asked questions, he remembered the dog’s names, their ages, their quirks.

Loki let it wash over him. It was pleasant. To be with the two of them, to listen to their conversation, something so simple that bought Min so much joy. Loki let his mind wander. One day, when they were long gone from this place, perhaps he might have this. To be at ease with people, and they at ease with him. To not be judged, or have to perform. To have no need to prove himself, or to be useful, but just to be.

To be accepted. To belong.

A few moments later, the lock-down buzzer sounded. The harsh noise vibrated through the metal of the ship. The smile vanished from Min's face, and her excited description of swimming with her dogs in the river by her parents’ home trailed off to silence.

"You can tell me tomorrow," Stark said, and she nodded, her face tight. Reality was back. Whatever mental reprieve Stark had given her with the gift of his attention would not last long.

Loki stood, and the other two followed suit, they should not linger after the buzzer. "Good night, Min," Loki said.

Min nodded and said, "Good night, Loki," to him.

Stark looked between the two of them, his mouth open. "Unbelievable," he muttered, and held his arms out to Min, wrapping her in a warm hug. "See you later, Mini-Min," he said, and the girl giggled at the nickname, heading back to her cell with a ghost of a smile on her face.

"I believe," Loki said under his breath as they walked to their cell, "that I told you I would toss you in the ore-crusher if you even looked in her direction."

"You say a lot of things," Stark shrugged, unconcerned.

Loki glared at him. "Do not forget your oath, Tony," he warned.

Stark rolled his eyes, "Oh, I haven't forgotten your little trick, don't you worry! I guess if you really want me to stay away from her, I will, but she's just a kid! She needs some help to get through this. And not just your brand of help, Mr I'll-cut-your-balls-off. She needs support. To remember that there's something out there to look forward to, something to hold on to. If that's her dogs and her family and swimming in the river, well, there's nothing wrong with that."

Stark stomped off, and Loki let him go. He was right, of course. Min needed more than just physical protection. She was so young, she could easily forget what life was like outside this place.

Loki sat on his bench and waited for lock-down, wondering what Stark thought of to get him through this ordeal. Did he have a family on Midgard? A wife, even children?

Loki pushed away the inkling of longing in his belly. Such things were not for him. It was not that he did not want it, but he could not offer what any partner would expect. No one would be content with him for any length of time, and it was better for everyone if Loki stayed away from that whole side of life. He was not jealous of those who had a family of their own, but it was reality. Loki would never have that. 

The energy field snapped into place across the open side of the cell, and Loki shook his head to clear it. Such thoughts would not serve him here. The delivery tube in the ceiling opened, and Loki stood, ready to catch what the tally-counter had hopefully been able to procure for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you are all enjoying this, I live for comments!


	14. Trust

Stark was drunk, and Loki was trying to convince himself that it was not adorable.

Everyone in the cell was inebriated to some degree. Even Loki felt his cheeks were warmer than usual, but Stark was actually drunk. The bottle the tally-counter had sent through the tube tasted like horse-medicine, and even the fumes of it make Loki's eyes water, but it warmed the belly and comforted the mind. They had passed it around and around the cell, and Stark had only drunk from it twice, but that had been enough. His eyes were unfocused and his tongue loosened, his gestures expansive and wild. He was entertaining the group with a tale from his past. Not one involving Loki, of course, but a heroic and entertaining story nonetheless. It was a tale of kidnapping, ingenuity and betrayal, and Loki found himself listening enthralled to the mortal’s somewhat slurred words.

Loki had moved Stark to a spot next to his bench at the rear of the cell, away from his previous place near the energy field. That way, they could talk when the others were sleeping, and try to access whatever arcane power Stark had unlocked the night before. Loki lounged on his bench, watching. The light of the distant stars outside the open airlock lit Stark's face, reflecting in his golden-brown eyes. He still wore the too-big prison shirt. As he told his story it slipped down over and over, showing his collarbone, a glimpse of his shoulder, the shine of the energy device embedded in his chest.

Loki let himself look. Even if anyone thought he was looking a little too intently, they would not remember by the morning. The picture was not perfect, Stark’s face still faintly bruised from the incident on the shuttle, he was on the way to growing a beard, his previously well groomed facial hair missing the touch of a razor. Loki had had a good amount of the bottle himself, and his fingers itched to fix the picture. He would turn Stark slightly towards him, let the heavenly light fall across his face and highlight his brow, his cheek, his lips. He would tug that shirt to fall down over one shoulder, run his fingers through his hair to arrange it just-so.

But of course he did not do any such thing. Stark certainly had no wish to be used in such a way, and it would do nothing but undermine the trust that was shakily building between them. Loki’s odd preferences had no place here, and he was far from drunk enough to slip up.

Stark’s tale concluded to enthusiastic cheers, and Jaravbor picked up with a song. The man had a surprisingly lovely voice. Loki closed his eyes and let the beauty of it flow over him, not even needing to understand the words.

When the song was over Tony was asleep, and Loki let him stay that way. Loki was impatient to try to access the energy that had sealed their oath the day before, but a drunk and tired midgardian was not going to be able to do that.

He could wait until tomorrow.

***

The morning was painful. Stark was not the only one hungover, but he was the worst afflicted. The bright lights of the deck made him groan, he could not eat breakfast, and the shuttle ride down to the mining location turned him green. They were all slow, they only made three tokens over tally that day, and Loki was not at all surprised. He paid Getar and lingered for a moment to hear that no one had heard of The Center. Getar promised to keep trying without Loki even having to ask, he was eager to please and on a whim Loki slipped him another token.

Loki traded their final extra token for more water. They were all a little dehydrated from their previous evening's merriment, and there was no way to save the tokens anyway. They were only good for that day, probably to prevent the prisoners using them as their own currency.

Loki looked for his two compatriots when he was done with the tally-counter, but he could only see Min. She was waiting in the same place as yesterday, sitting against the bulkhead, her arms wrapped around her knees. Loki searched again for Stark. The dull grey walls and grey clothes of all the prisoners made it hard to pick out anyone. He glimpsed Darronu, leaning facing the wall, someone almost hidden under his raised arm, and Loki's jaw tightened when he saw that it was Stark. They were talking, their heads close together, intent on each other. Loki was on his way over there before he even realized it.

“Tony, come,” he ordered as he walked past, not slowing down or checking that Stark followed him. Of course he did. He had to.

“Hey, dude,” Stark complained, trying to keep up with Loki’s longer stride, “Could you _not_ order me around like a dog? If it’s not too much trouble?”

Loki sat in his spot next to Min, his back to the wall and gestured Stark to sit with them. He did, clearly displeased.

“I do not trust that man,” Loki said in an undertone.

“I don’t trust him either!” Stark retorted, “Hell, I don’t trust _you_ all that much, come to mention it, but that has nothing to do with anything! Don’t order me around like that. I don’t like it.”

Min looked between them, uncertain what was happening.

“What was he saying to you?” Loki questioned, certain that Darronu did not have his or Stark’s best interest at heart.

“None of your business!”

“It is my business and you will tell me!” Loki demanded, heat rising in his face. He would not be defied by this mortal. Stark had sworn him an oath and Loki would see that he kept it.

Tony hissed at him, then his face paled and he pressed his hands to his chest.

“Loki,” he croaked, through gritted teeth, “Stop it.”

“Tell me!” Loki ordered. “And no lies!” He could not let Stark do as he pleased. If he did not enforce his authority Stark would have no reason to follow Loki's rules, risking his own safety and by extension Loki's. The guard captain and his whip flashed into Loki’s mind. Blood filled his mouth as he bit his own cheek to stop himself from gasping out loud.

Stark groaned and bent forward, resting his head on his knees. “Stop it, stop it, stop it,” he muttered, sweat breaking out on his forehead.

“Tell him!” Min pleaded, her hands on the human’s shoulders, trying to soothe him, and it was her distress more than the pain in his chest that seemed to tip Stark over the edge.

“Fine!” he said, his tone tight with anger and pain. “Fine, you win! We were talking about you, if you must know. He asked me if it was true that you defeated Thor of Asgard in single combat and of course I told him it was completely true! OK! Are you happy now?” Having spoken, the pain in Stark’s chest subsided and the man breathed deeply, still covering his chest with both hands, eyes closed.

Loki pressed his lips together. Stark may think such a conversation was innocent but Loki knew better. Darronu had an ulterior motive, he was sure of it, and Loki would not have that Tauren trying to come between Loki and his people.

“You will not speak to him again,” he ordered. Even as the words left his lips Loki's hot temper cooled and he knew it was a mistake. Stark stared at him, mouth open, shock clear on his face.

“Are you serious?” he said, “Are you fucking serious right now Loki? You think you’re just gonna order me around like that? Who do you think you are?”

Loki leaned closer. It was too late to reverse course. He would not be indecisive, would not show weakness. “You gave me your oath and I will have your obedience!”

Stark glared at him, stood up, turned on his heel and walked away.


	15. Accident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so someone was able to use a promo code for my audiobook even though they are not in UK or US! So if anyone else wants to try, use one of these codes. If you think you might want to give it a listen, here you go. The book is a rewrite of Tony's Thrall, with extra content (end editing, lol!), the narrator did a very good job, and it's free!:
> 
> Redeem at: audible.com/acx-promo  
> 8LX43M3SE83W4, 8XS8TKRRZ3LS5, D3QQQFMZBH9UP, D66AAB3WR5SGX
> 
> Redeem at: audible.co.uk/acx-promo  
> 37AX4UYUN8QN4, 495A466QEAM3G, 547SQC5SMM6CZ, 6ENHWHJCR9UHW
> 
> On to the story....

Stark ignored Loki that night. He kept his back to him and laid down to sleep the moment he was done eating. The tension in the cell was palpable, the others squeezing against the far wall and trying not to attract Loki's attention.

Loki lay on his bench, frustrated with Stark and with himself, but unsure what to do about it. Stark had the ability to access the energy embedded in his chest, and it was the key to escaping this place. If he would just be reasonable and do as he was told, they could be working together even now to unlock that power, but there was no chance of success while Stark was angry. Working with another mage took trust, and Stark had lost whatever trust he may have had for Loki.

The long hiss of depressurization began, the sound of it a counterpoint to Loki's gloomy thoughts. An itch in his brain drew his attention to something he was trying not to consider. Stark was not like Min, or any other loyal servant of the royal family. Those servants gave their oath of service willingly, as a path to an honorable and privileged life. Stark had given his oath grudgingly, without even truly understanding what he was doing. Loki could hardly admit it to himself, but Stark's anger with him was at least a little justified. He was not used to obedience, and if Loki wanted him to cooperate, he would do well to remember that.

Loki turned over and tried to sleep, the bare metal as hard and cold under him as it ever was. Perhaps tomorrow he could untangle this knot he had tied for himself.

To Loki’s relief, Stark’s anger had cooled by the next day. He took his usual seat next to Loki in the shuttle. When the noise of the engines covered their voices, he turned to him without preamble and said, “Take back your order and I’ll forgive you. We need each other, but I won’t be your slave.”

Loki closed his eyes. He would not get a more generous offer, and he knew it. He could erase the events of the day before and be back in Stark’s good graces. Or at least, out of his bad ones.

“I rescind my order, you can talk to Darronu,” he said before he could overthink it.

“OK, then we’re cool,” Stark said, and just like that, they were back to their former mistrustful alliance.

The team breathed easier, and their productive rhythm at the ore processing conveyor returned. Fourteen hours later, they had earned eight tokens over tally, and Loki was already planning what the team needed that day.

The deck was silent as they came through the shuttle airlock. Not empty, but dead silent. The groups who had already returned stood or sat around, even a few at the tally-counter, but the usual chatter and buzz of conversation was absent. Loki skin prickled. Something was wrong. Something had happened, and he stopped where he was and looked for Min.

She was in her usual place, her back to the bulkhead, and one look at her face was all it took to sound every alarm in his head. Loki strode over to her, Tony trailing behind him without needing to be told.

“What happened?” Loki demanded, crouching beside the girl. She hugged her knees, tracks of tears running down her face.

“Getar,” she said under her breath, twisting the fabric of her pants under her fingers.

“What did he do?” Loki snapped, already standing up, looking for the man, ready to tear his throat out if he had so much put one finger on Min. Instead he saw Darronu walking toward him, looking as though he would rather be anywhere else.

“You!” Loki said, “What has happened?”

“It was an accident,” Darronu said, his eyes red in his thickset face, “The machinery, he was too slow…”

Min choked on a sob behind him and Loki understood.

Getar was dead.

Loki’s vision sharpened. Shadows darkened and faded away, he could only see what was right in front of him. Darronu. He was responsible for this. He had to be. He was ambitious, he was strong, he was selfish and stupid. And he was Min's new cell-boss.

Loki took a step toward the Tauren, and the man retreated, his face pale, his eyes flicking over Loki's frozen face.

He held up his hands, “It was an accident!” he protested, “It was an accident, I swear!”

Stark scrambled between them, both hands on Loki’s chest, walking backwards as Loki advanced on Darronu, whispering under his breath, “Hey, cool it, cool it, think! Think! They were allies, accidents happen, don’t do anything rash, Loki, wait…” Loki shoved him aside. Darronu turned to run but he was too slow, everything moved in slow motion and Loki leapt, a red haze falling over him. He hit Darronu from behind. One arm snaked around his throat, the other hand, fingers straight and locked, jabbed like a blunt knife in the man’s kidneys, rapid blows that would turn his soft organs to bloody pulp. Darronu twisted but Loki kicked his ankle. The crunch of small bones told him his aim was true, and the man fell to the floor, Loki on top of him.

In the distance, Min was screaming, Stark was yelling, shouts of alarm came from those closest on the deck, but none of that mattered. He would kill Darronu, and keep Min safe.

The lockdown buzzer sounded, long and loud, rattling and shaking everything on the deck. Everything froze for a split second. It was too early, half the teams hadn't arrived yet on their shuttles, and they still had to turn in their tokens to be able to eat that night. Still, the buzzer sounded, and the guard door clanged and opened.

“Oh shit, oh shit, Loki, get up! Get away from here!” The mist faded from Loki’s eyes. Stark was leaning over him, trying to drag him off Darronu, trying to pull him to his feet and away from the evidence of what he had done.

Darronu was lying groaning in a puddle of blood. It was all over Loki’s hands, all over his clothes. There was nowhere for him to hide. He wiped his hands on his shirt, noticing that some of the blood was his own, the skin on his knuckles broken and split. Darronu rolled over, spat blood on the ground.

“Fuck you!” he snarled, trying to get up, “It was an accident you fucking psycho!” He slipped and stumbled back to the ground with a strangled cry, his ankle broken by Loki's kick.

Stark looked over at the open guard door, tried one more time to drag Loki away, then gave up. He grabbed Min instead and hustled her towards the front of the deck, away from Loki.

Loki's vision narrowed dizzily, stars spinning before his eyes as the guard captain and his minions marched across the deck. They had not even waited for lockdown. The deck was still full, new shuttles arrived even as Loki froze to the spot, memories of pain and humiliation flooding through him. The captain was grinning, eager to get his hands on Loki again so soon. Loki recognized every one of the guards. His head swam, he was glued to the spot, eyes locked on the captain, his heart hammering out of his chest.

“Prince Loki," the captain drawled, excitement evident in his tone. "The Center doesn’t care much about discipline, but they’re taking a special interest in you. Any idea why that is?”

Loki couldn't answer. He couldn't even breathe, and it was almost a mercy when the captain pulled out his control device and Loki crumpled to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Loki!


	16. Rescue

Just as before, they took him to the captain’s cabin first. His unresistant body was dragged and dumped on the floor, limbs tangled. He didn’t see Stark or Min as he was taken, and he was glad. The girl had no need to see him helpless for the second time in almost as many days. At least this time he had confidence that Stark would protect her while he was gone.

The cabin was exactly the same as he remembered it, down to the dirty braided-leather whip left on the table, the strands stiff with Loki’s own blood. The sight of it brought the taste of copper to his mouth, and his mind buzzed with static. He was here again. He was back. Time was looping, repeating itself, and the three days of torture he had suffered was going to repeat too. Pain, humiliation, rape, torture. All of it all over again.

The guards left and the captain stood in the center of the room, his face flushed with excitement, his eyes black pits, lustful and obscene. He didn't even pause to take off his body-armor or his helmet, he was so eager. Loki closed his eyes, then opened them again. Of anything, he couldn’t stand pain in the dark.

The captain picked up the whip and kicked Loki’s ribs to turn him face up. He would strip Loki first, then the pain would start and it wouldn’t stop until the captain decided it was time to fuck him instead. Loki’s spiraling thoughts did not know which was worse, the pain or the feeling of that man _inside_ him.

“Couldn’t stay away?” the boot slammed into his ribs again, and the Captain looked down at him, a twisted grin on his face. “You missed me? Which did you miss more, _Prince Loki_? My whip? Or my cock up your ass?”

Loki couldn’t answer, he barely registered the question. He thought he might pass out, he hoped for it, he wished to fall into darkness and wake up when this was over, but that kind of mercy was not for him. His vision blurred, tears running down his cheeks, eyes unable to focus. If he could have turned his face away, he would have. If he could have begged, he would have.

The captain trailed the tails of the whip over Loki’s face, and he was forced to close his eyes. He would lose an eye if the man hit him in the face with that filthy whip. He still might lose an eye, even with his eyes screwed tightly shut. Or both eyes. The horror of the thought of blindness, permanent darkness, was so great that Loki's breath stopped in his throat and he thought he might choke on it.

A booted foot pressed on his chest and the captain slapped the strands over and over on the tender skin of his face. There was no force behind the blows, but there didn't have to be. Loki couldn't move, he couldn't protect himself in any way. His cheeks, his lips, his eyelids, his nose, all burned and stung with each blow, building and growing, the same soft flesh hit again and again.

Loki gasped for breath when he stopped. The boot was still on his chest and Loki was afraid to open his eyes. He was afraid to open them and afraid to keep them closed. He waited for endless seconds then cracked one eye, the darkness overwhelming him. Immediately, the captain snapped the whip in his face, one strand of it catching his open eye. The captain laughed at that, long and loud, and Loki could do nothing but squeeze his eyes closed and hope that the wet tracks down his face were tears and not blood.

The weight lifted from his chest, but Loki didn't dare open his eyes again. Small noises floated to his ears, disconnected and mysterious, the clink of buckles and the rip of fabric hooks. The captain was talking but Loki couldn't hear his words, only the tone. Thick with lust, crawling with his sadistic desires. Loki tried to breathe. Breathe. In and out. That was all he could do. He would endure this as he had endured everything else. That was what he was good for. Taking punishments, suffering, and enduring. He breathed, and tried to calm his wildly beating heart.

There was a dull thud, a brush of air by his side, and a crash. Loki held his breath. What was that? He didn't open his eyes, fearing some trick that would let the captain blind him with his whip. His head swam with confusion when he heard another voice.

"Man, I thought that asshole would never take his helmet off!"

Loki's eyes snapped open. He couldn't see out of his left, but through his watering right eye he saw the guard captain on the floor, and Tony Stark standing over him, breathing hard, a heavy can of water in his hands.

Loki blinked, trying to clear his vision. Trying to understand what had happened.

Stark dropped the can of water with a heavy thud and knelt next to Loki.

“Are you OK?" He didn't wait for an answer, or even seem to care much, because he carried on. "You're an asshole by the way, an asshole and an idiot. What the hell is wrong with you? What was all that about with Darronu?” Stark scolded him thoroughly as he rummaged over the captain's unconscious body for the control device. He held it up to Loki’s face. “Which button?” he asked, but Loki could only blink at him, utterly confused. How had Stark even got back here? Loki remembered the guard door, standing open as the captain crossed the deck. He remembered Stark grabbing Min’s hand and vanishing, leaving Loki to face the guards alone. After that, he only remembered his own fear, the utter certainty that pain was coming and there was nothing he could do about it.

“No idea?" Stark continued, turning the device to look over it, "Me neither, so we’ll do this the old fashioned way. Trial and error. Button one.”

Stark hit the first button and Loki screamed. Even through the paralysis of the implant, the fire racing through his every nerve forced the sound from his lips. Stark fumbled and pressed it again, ending the pain only a few seconds after it had begun. Despite the short duration, Loki was already covered in sweat, his muscles aching and twitching all over.

“Shit. Shit, sorry. Next one.” Stark pressed the second one, and Loki felt that reverse tingle in his limbs. He could move again. He rolled over and lay flat on the floor for a moment, convinced he was going to throw up. His mouth was acidic, sour, his stomach churning, his head spinning.

“OK great, we have to go, like now. Now. Get up. Puke later.”

The guard captain was unmoving, a trickle of blood running from his temple where Stark had struck him with the water can. Loki struggled to his knees, then to his feet.

“Sta...Tony,” he said, “You did this? I didn't order you...did I?” he wracked his brain. He didn't remember giving Stark any order to rescue him, that he would have been forced to follow.

“Yeah, idiot, I did this! And I wouldn’t have had to if you could keep your temper for ten seconds! I thought you were the smart one, but you're just as bad as your brother!” Stark kicked at the whip still held in the unconscious captain’s hand, his face wrinkled in disgust.

Loki let that pass. He was hardly in a position to argue. He had always mocked Thor's eagerness to fight, his out of control temper, but now he understood it. "Min?" he asked, his voice hoarse. His throat constricted at the thought that she was left unprotected again, without Stark and with Darronu on the prowl for revenge.

Stark rolled his eyes. "If you gave a shit about Min you wouldn't have just tried to kill Darronu for no reason," he spat. "Lucky for you, your two minions are smarter than you. She's hiding outside." He jerked his thumb at the captain's door.

Loki leaned on the wall, his head spinning. He tried to force his thoughts to order, but somehow they slid out from under him. Stark's expression softened. "Listen," he said, "You're a badass Loki, but you don't have to do everything by yourself. No one can. Min's not as helpless as you think, and I'm actually on your side. Just keep it together for a few minutes, OK?"

Loki nodded, his face wet from helpless tears that he didn't understand.

He stood uselessly as Stark tied the unconscious captain and dragged him to the closet, jamming the door shut with splinters of plastic from a broken drawer.

Next, Stark dressed Loki in the captain's gear. He was already wearing black, and with the addition of the body armor, helmet, control device, shock-stick and boots he could pass for a guard, at least from a distance.

"Ready?" Stark asked, one hand on the door control, "We're gonna walk out of here, nice and easy. If you see anyone, go the other way. Min's in a closet to the right. Stop there first."

"Where are we going?" Loki asked, wishing that he didn't sound so pathetic, so lost.

Stark smiled at him. "We're going home," he said, utter certainty in his voice. "We'll figure the rest out along the way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony is done waiting around! Yay!


End file.
